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MELINITE 

THE LADY’S MAID. 


I 

ADOLPH ‘PELOT, 

M 

Author of “Mlle. Giuaud, Mv Wife,” “Woman of Fire,” 
Etc., Etc. 


Translated from the French hy Lb Kodeur. 


FULLY ILLUSTRATED. 


1892 . z? yo^)( 

MELBOUKNE PUBLISHING CO., 

CHICAGO. ' 


Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year Eighteen 
Hundred and Ninety-two, in the office of the 
Librarian of Congress, at "Washington. 


MELINITE. 


I. 

Ducheas : 

I have decided to write that to you which I 
dare not speak : I love you with my whole soul. 
Will you do me the great honor of granting me 
your hand, the supreme happiness of permitting 
me to unite my destiny with your own ? 

I am with respect, Duchess, 

Your devoted servant, 

Henbi db T. . . . 

Prince : 

Your request is most improper. When a man 
like yourself wishes to espouse a woman like 
myself, he chooses a relation, an ally, or a friend, 
and requests him to go, in his place, to present 
his humble request. But I do not wish to believe 
that you have willingly been thus wanting in the 
laws of etiquette. It appears to me, rather, that you 
have lost your head a little in these latter days, 

7 


8 


M^JLINITE. 


and also that, without being well acquainted with 
me. ... I will repeat it . . . you have some 
idea of my character. In truth, I hate the conven- 
tions of society, its established regulations, its cere- 
monial, its pomp, and I think it preferable to 
attend to one^s own affairs, without the interfer- 
ence of others. 

What could I have said to your ambassador ? 
‘‘ The request of the prince flatters me greatly, and 
I willingly believe that the hand that he solicits 
would be well placed in his own. AVe are equal in 
our birth, our rank in the world, our connections, 
our attachments, nearly so in our parents. I shall 
lose nothing in changing my name and titles for 
those that he will give me. Our fortunes are 
equal, and are sufficiently large not to regard a 
few million francs. I am twenty-eight years of 
age, he is thirty-flve. The digression is reasonable. 
AVith a grand air, a handsome countenance, with 
health, and courage that has been often proved. 
AVith enough faults not to be perfect, which 
would be an imperfection and a vice in my eyes. 
Of high intelligence, and large ideas in all things ; 
of artistic tastes — even an artist himself; like 
myself, of an independent character, he is aware 
that his high position places him a little above the 
world’s rules, and enables him to act in that 


m:^linite. 


9 


fashion which he thinks proper. In short. Mon- 
sieur the Ambassador, the Prince ^ Charming,^ — let 
us say charming, for it does not compromise 
me, — whose hand you have just offered me, would 
suit me in every way, if I had decided to marry 
again, hut I hesitate, I require reflection.” 

This is what I should have replied to your envoy, 
if you had sent one. With you, who address your- 
self directly to me, I shall have less reserve, and 
I will tell you the truth. “I have reflected. 
Widowhood is good, but it gives too much liberty 
to a woman. She uses it sometimes, without dis- 
cretion, and perhaps would do better if she was 
held at the end of a chain. You offer to hold this 
little chain, and the idea does not displease me. 
I have studied you well, and believe I know you, 
and that you would hold it so lightly, that I 
should imagine that you wore it yourself. But, if 
I know you, you are are not acquainted with me . . . 
Xo, I assure you, you only know what is com- 
monly said of me. I am tall and slender. I have 
marvelous shoulders, a divine waist, the carriage of 
a queen, so the journals say that are indiscreet 
enough to occupy themselves with my person. I 
am fair, a clear blonde, so rare that it is difficult 
to find one like me ; with arched eyebrows, deep 
blue eyes, with a changing expression, by turns 


10 


MJ^LINITE. 


imperious, caressing, quiet, lively, pensive or curi- 
ous ; with a nose, a mouth, an ear, a hand, a 
foot which can never be seen again — the mold 
is broken. This is what my biographers say of me. 
One has dared to say I am more beautiful than 
Marie Antoinette ; others have compared me to 
the huntress Diana, but a more human and wom- 
anly goddess than she was. A few say I am 
incomparable, and they are the least foolish. Pass- 
ing from my physical to my mental qualities, they 
find me most intelligent, very original, and — 
this is what spoils it — curious, oh ! curious to 
excess in all things, even in those that it would be 
much better to ignore, some women insinuate, 
who ignore nothing. But no one knows when my 
curiosity stops. Is it passive ? Does it suffice me 
to interrogate, to listen, or to look ? Is it active ? 
Do I pretend to be acquainted with the sentiments, 
to have felt the sensations, the existence of which 
my curiosity has taught me.” 

Here, my prince, is that of which you are com- 
pletely ignorant, and it is this that you should 
know before uniting your destiny to mine. To 
use your own expression : I do not believe that 
secrets should exist between people like ourselves, 
who would marry in full liberty, without being 
constrained by any one or any thing, but simply 


MilLINITE. 


11 


because I please you, and you do not displease me. 

How can I instruct you ? Shall I tell you, in a 
private interview, a certain chapter in my life, a 
certain recent adventure of which no one knows, 
and which paints me as I am, which shows the 
curiosity with which I am reproached, and the 
audacity which no one knows of, but which I avow 
to you ? Ho, I dare not do it. The adventure is 
too shameful to be told in words. But, for a long 
time past, I have kept a diary, or journal, in which 
I have recorded my actions and my thoughts ; I 
have been in the habit of talking every evening with 
myself, and of reproducing my gossip, which has 
often followed from conversations that I have just 
had with this one or that, when it merited the 
trouble of thus preserving it. It has always 
amused me to play at being a dramatic author ; I 
should have wished to be Sardou, if I were not 
myself. To-day, these records, of one or several 
personages, will allow me to tell you all, without 
saying anything, to inform you of my worth, or 
more likely to lower myself in your eyes. I have 
detached from the book the leaves in which the 
adventure in question is related, and I confide 
them to your loyalty. If, after having read them, 
your wishes remain unchanged, if you find that 
your penitent merits absolution, you may yourself 


12 


MJ^LINITE. 


fix, prince, the date of our marriage. But if you 
say to yourself that I have really gone too far, that 
I may he tempted to try more adventures of the 
same nature, to make a new attempt at the impos- 
sible, take back your request, and marry yourself 
to an innocent. With those ideas, you will find 
her better than 

The Duchess Olga. 

To this letter were joined the following pages, 
which the duchess had detached from her private 
journal. She gave thus to the Prince de T. the 
only chapter in her life which she considered de- 
serving of censure, thinking it useless to deliver 
to him the innocent secrets of her youth. She 
wished to be judged solely upon her crime, or her 
offense, and to be acquitted or condemned with- 
out taking the benefit of the extenuating circum- 
stances which a study of the remainder of her life 
would have furnished. 


II. 


10th June, 188 . . . 

A MOST strange and annoying thing has hap- 
pened to me. I have lost a million. I have not 
lost it through my own fault, or by the fault of 
my advisers, through making a bad speculation or 
a wrong investment. No, I have lost it as one 
loses a purse or a handkerchief. It is impossible 
to find it. I do not know where it has gone. It 
has gone from its place, however, and it was a 
good size, for it was not a million in bank notes, 
but a million in bills of all sorts, of all colors, of 
every form ; bonds, deeds, and documents payable 
to the bearer, unhappily. I have seen the heap, 
and my notary has also seen it, and even touched 
it, for he gave himself the trouble, now useless, 
indeed, of inscribing the numbers of all these 
deeds in my marriage contract. Some represented 
a portion of that which was brought me by the 
duke, and the others a fraction of my marriage 
settlement. The whole belonged to us both, since 
we were married under the regulation of an equal 
division of properties. It is not only that they 
13 


14 


MJ^LINITE. 


cannot be found, but a paper, a note left by my 
husband, indicates that they have been deposited 
by him somewhere. At first I asked myself if 
the million had not been employed in buying 
houses or land. But, in that case, the new title 
to the property would have been found, as all the 
others were found, well arranged, catalogued, with 
notes to that effect attached. The duke was 
methodical ; he was neither prodigal nor a spend- 
thrift. ... It is in consequence of this that my 
notary cannot understand it, and has lost his wits 
in the matter. It is useless to lose mine also. I 
will close my journal, and go to bed. 

11th June. 

I have slept badly. This matter has tormented 
me all night. A good sign, in my opinion. It is 
a proof that I am not losing my wits, as is my 
notary. 

It is not a question of the money that engrosses 
me. I have always lived so grandly ; all my cap- 
rices have been satisfied since my infancy, with so 
much good grace that I do not know the value of 
money. I do not attach to these questions the 
importance that others, less fortunate than my- 
self, should and are obliged to attach to them. 
But a curiosity, from which I cannot escape, pos- 
sesses me to find out where this million has gone. 


MilLINITE. 


15 


At the same time I dread to learn. . . . Yes, a 
vagne fear is in my mind, seizes my heart. I ask 
myself at times if the disappearance of all the 
deeds is not connected with the unexpected, 
strange death of my husband. He had always 
enjoyed good health, never an ailment, an illness. 
It was only for a few weeks I found him preoccu- 
pied, sad, a little dull. Often he appeared not to 
listen to me when I spoke. His thoughts were 
not with me. I felt uneasy, and asked him the 
reason. He told me it was nothing, absolutely 
nothing. But one day — he evidently lacked the 
courage to dissimulate longer — he complained of 
extreme weariness in his body, of violent pains in 
his head. I sent for our doctor, more than a doc- 
tor — a professor. He questioned him, sounded 
him, and finished by declaring it was nothing seri- 
ous, that he was nervous. The nerves, always the 
nerves ! In our days the doctors, both great and 
little, powerless to understand certain maladies, 
refer everything to the nerves and throw every- 
thing on them. 

I looked after the duke as much as if his illness 
had been serious. I did not leave him for an 
instant. He was always excited, agitated. I rec- 
ollect he often started. He took me by the hand, 
and said to me, quickly : “ Pardon, pardon I ” I 


16 


m^:linite. 


thought then that he wished to say : “ Pardon for 

the trouble I am giving you, for your fatigue.” 
This day I asked him if these words had another 
meaning. 

After two nights passed in his room, upon a 
couch, as he prayed me to go to my room and take 
some rest, I ended by consenting. Oh ! I shall 
reproach myself all my life. I had slept about an 
hour when the report of a firearm awoke me with 
a start. I jumped up. I ran to the duke. . . . 
He was dead. Whilst I slept, unhappy being that 
I am, he rose from his bed, took from his desk a 
revolver he kept there, and shot himself. 

Why this suicide ? The doctors attributed it to 
delirium, caused by an idiopathic injury of the 
cerebral functions. It is well named. I wrote it 
so when I was able, after a considerable period, to 
take up my journal again. 

And this explanation has satisfied me until now. 
But now. . . . Yes, this absent million always 
besets me. ... It is stronger than I. I cannot 
help it. I cannot avoid placing certain things to- 
gether. . . . What folly ! Admitting that the 
duke had gambled, lost, squandered this sum, 
would it have affected him to that extent ? It 
represented scarcely eighteen months rent. . . . 

Never mind, nothing will make me give it up ; 


m:Elinite. 


17 


there is some mystery, and I would give much to 
penetrate it. Is it not natural that I should wish 
to clear up, in all its details, the death of my 
husband, and the events which have caused it ? 
Ought 1 to attribute it to a physical or moral 
cause ? Who would be able to inform me ? No 
one. ... Yes ; some one, perhaps. The Marquis 
de B . . . ., the intimate friend of the duke. 
They were comrades at school and at college, com- 
panions in their pleasures, and nothing has ever 
altered their confidence in each other, their mutual 
devotion. My marriage rendered their friendship 
less close, but did not break it off. They have 
continued to meet here and elsewhere, without my 
having thought of taking umbrage at their inti- 
macy. . . . Why does the marquis seem to shun 
me since the death of his friend ? Two formal 
visits, nothing more. Does he fear that I shall 
question him ; that I shall try to wrest some secret 
from him ? . . . Oh ! if one exists, I shall know 
how to compel him. ... I will write to him, 
this very evening, that I expect him to morrow. 


2 


III. 

12th June. 

The marquis has responded to my appeal, 
though he would have preferred not to do so, and 
I know his motive now. In place of writing a 
part of our conversation, I am going to try to 
reproduce it exactly. 

After reproaching him politely for the rarity of 
his visits, I approached the question that occupied 
me, lightly, in a cheerful tone, to prevent him 
putting himself upon his guard. 

“My notary,” I said, “in making the inventory 
of the duke^s property, has established the disap- 
pearance of a large number of bonds payable to 
bearer. There is reason to believe that these 
bonds have been stolen since the death of my hus- 
band, and Monsieur X. advises me to seek legal 
redress. ” 

While speaking, I glanced furtively at the mar- 
quis, and I thought I perceived that he was slightly 
troubled. I continued, freely, in the same half 
serious tone : 

“Before deciding to do this, which is always a 

i8 


M^ILINITE. 


19 


troublesome matter, I thought that I ought to seek 
the advice of some friend. This is why I have 
allowed myself, my dear marquis, to bring you 
here from your occupations or your pleasures. ” 

“ I thank you, duchess, but Ido not see what 
advice I can give you concerning the bonds in 
question.” 

“ You do not see ! It is very simple, however. 
If you have the slightest reason to believe that the 
duke, whose intimate friend you were, had sold or 
pledged these deeds, as was his perfect right in 
his position as chief of our community, tell me so, 
and it will save me from taking this troublesome 
step.” 

M. de B., slightly frowning, thought without a 
doubt for an evasive answer. I did not give him 
time to find one, but coming nearer, I added : 

“ Can you recall to your mind if he made a bad 
speculation upon the exchange ? ” 

He hesitated. Perhaps, to get rid of me, to cut 
short this dangerous conversation, he thought of 
telling me that my husband had in truth specu- 
lated, and lost upon the bourse. But this very 
pure gentleman had too much respect for him- 
self to tell an untruth. A thing that I was 
slightly counting upon. 

“To my knowledge,” said he, at length, timidly. 


20 


MELINITE. 


as if he regretted not being able to say so. 
“ Gontran never speculated on the bourse. It 
never entered his mind.” 

I thought so, but I wished to be sure of it. Let 
us seek another solution. My husband did not 
care for cards, nor play habitually, I know well. 
But men are subject to passing fancies. Do we 
not read every day in the papers that Messieurs 
M. M. X . . . or Z . . . have lost in a week, 
sometimes in a night, considerable sums ? Was 
Gontran seized, with a folly of that kind ? I 
should not respect his memory the less, for I am 
indulgent to every fault that does not touch one^s 
honor, and you should tell me frankly.” 

I kept my eyes fixed upon him. He said, after 
a new hesitation, a new effort : 

“Xo, duchess, I do not believe that Gontran 
gambled.” 

“Without the bourse, cards, or horse-racing 
which he had no passion for, do you see anything 
else ... an important purchase, a loan ? Think 
well.” 

He appeared to think. 

“Xo, I can see nothing,” he said, at last. 

These words were said in a badly assured voice, 
as if he had some trouble in pronouncing them. 
He deceived me then. He was lying against all 


MJ^LINITE. 


21 


his habits. My desire to know the truth was 
increased. What sentiment dominated me ? Curi- 
osity without doubt. An honest curiosity that 
had in it no unkindness to my husband, as I was 
certain he had never committed any grave wrong 
to reproach himself with. 

‘‘Then,” said I, as if I had finished, “it is evi- 
dent that the duke did not dispose of these bonds 
before his death ; that we have been robbed of 
them, and that I ought to follow the advice of my 
notary.” 

“ Lay a complaint ? ” he murmured. 

“ Evidently ; do you not judge so ? it affects a 
million.” 

This statement, strong as it was, did not appear 
to surprise him. One would have said that he 
expected it, that he knew it as well as I. 

With a tranquil air that did not deceive me, 
he replied : 

“Are you not about to give yourself much 
trouble for the sake of the money ? The police at 
your house. They will make an inquiry, question 
your servants . . . then a citation before the 
judge, new interrogations, long waitings, and then 
the researches in the banks, your credits, for the 
judge will certainly say : ‘ One does not keep at 
one’s house a million in bonds; it is placed some- 


22 


MiJLINITE. 


where. He with whom it was placed has stolen 
it without doubt. ^ And then all Paris is mixed up 
in your private affairs. The papers seize hold of 
it, investigate the life of Gontran, even your own. 
. . . Believe me, duchess, it is better to renounce 
this complaint that has very little chance of any 
result.” 

He had said too much, and with too much ani- 
mation, considering his habitual coolness. His 
strong desire to make me renounce this plaint was 
most apparent. 

Again I insisted : 

‘‘Yes, all these troubles are in store for me, I 
know. Nevertheless, I do not believe it right to 
draw back. Personally, I am able to lose a million ; 
that affects me only. But it is not allowed me to 
sacrifice the interests of those that come after me 
or my heirs.” 

“You have no children ! ” 

“ I have nieces that the duke loved very much ; 
. . . and another thing, which is of more impor- 
tance still, I owe it to the memory of my husband 
to show that he was robbed of this amount.” 

“I do not understand.” 

“ You do not understand ? If I refuse to make 
this complaint, to encourage this search, to follow 
the counsel of my notary, I make it appear that 


MELINITE. 


23 


the duke has been a prodigal, a dissipated man ; 
who, in spite of his immense revenues, has made 
away with a million of his capital, and that with- 
out my preventing it. You see well, my dear 
marquis, I must not hesitate, and I hesitate no 
more.” 

“You will really make this complaint?” he 
demanded, much moved. 

“Yes, to-day even. What! after all that I 
have just told you, you do not approve ? ” 

“No, duchess.” 

“Why ? Give me, at least, a good reason.” 

Pressed thus, he cried, with excitement : “ You 
would do wrong to make some things public . . .” 

Then he stopped himself, suddenly, as if he had 
said too much. 

“ What things ? ” asked I, raising my head, 
moved this time, as much as himself. “ Oh I take 
care. You cannot be silent. . . . You owe me 
an explanation of the words you have just uttered. 
What are these things it is necessary to hide, that 
must not he made public ? ” 

He did not reply. I dared to add : 

“Do they touch his honor, then ? ” 

Then he spoke, and said to me, vehemently : 

“No, no ! Gontran has never failed in that.” 

“ I know it well,” I cried, in the same voice, with 


24 ME LINITE. 

the same pride. “ Then why counsel me to silence, 
to prevent me having some wretched thief 
punished ? ” 

“There was no theft. . . . The money was 
given.” 

“ By Gontran ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ To whom ? ” 

“I beseech yon not to oblige me to say.” 

“ I entreat yon to speak. I demand it. ” 

“ I have not the right to betray the secret of a 
friend.” 

“ Yes. To prevent others from knowing it ; that 
we alone may keep it. It is yonr strict duty, on 
the contrary.” 

“ If yon suffer from this confidence ? ” 

“So much the worse for me. I have wished 
for it.” 

And, approaching him, in a low tone, with 
beating heart, for I had divined : 

“ He did it for a woman, is it not so ? ” 

His silence told me the truth. 

“ What woman ? ” continued I, more angry now 
than curious. “ A woman does not receive a mill- 
ion at first sight.” 

“It is sometimes at the last,” he replied. 

From the contemptuous manner in which he 


Mi:LINITE. 


25 


spoke I could not misunderstand him. But an 
idea had just struck me, and I said quickly : 

“ The death of my husband was voluntary, is it 
not so ? He killed himself in his delirium. ” 

‘‘I do not know.” 

“ What do you believe ? Do not tell an untruth. 
We are speaking of the dead.” 

‘‘ I believe that he was partly conscious, and I 
love him the better for that.” 

“ What ! you approve of his killing himself for 
this woman ? ” 

“He did not kill himself for her. He killed 
himself for fear of her. ” 

“ What did he fear ? ” 

“Of being entangled still more than he had 
been, of being lured into doing some new folly.” 

“ Some money folly ? ” said I, in a hollow voice. 
“He would have done better to have lived and 
ruined me. . . . For he must have loved her, to 
have such fear ? ” 

“Ho, he did not love her.” 

“Yes, yes, I know what you would say. Men 
have their own words, different expressions, when 
they speak of their amours. They desire ; they 
do not love. With us women it is the same thing. 
As for the rest, for a million, he no doubt satisfied 


2G 


MJ^LINITE. 


all his desires. If lie killed himself, he loved 
truly. . . . Eeply to me, if you can.” 

“I am not able,” he murmured. 

I did not remark these words as they strike me 
now. Did he wish to say, “ I am not able to ex- 
plain certain sentiments,” or, well, “There are 
some things that I cannot speak to you about ? ” 
To continue, however, I said to him, in a hard 
voice: “You have been the intimate friend of 
my husband. You have been entirely in his con- 
fidence. If I ever doubted it, I will doubt it no 
more. . . . And you have never tried to draw 
him away from this creature to whom he owes his 
death. ” 

He replied softly, with lowered head, and moist 
eyes : 

“On the contrary, I always tried to save him 
from her, but did not succeed.” 

As he bowed before me, in taking leave, without 
daring to offer me his hand, I said to him shortly, 
obeying an idea, which I cannot explain : 

“ What was her name ? ” 

He hesitated to answer. Then I said : 

“Be it so ! I will ask some one else. Their 
loves have been no secret to any one but myself.” 

“No one, except myself,” he replied, “is 
acquainted with it.” 


m:^linite. 


27 


“ She hides it, then ? It was a woman of the 
world, married but venal, it would appear.” 

‘‘No, a courtesan.” 

“ They make no mystery, then, of their liasons, 
above all when they are paid such a good price ; a 
prodigal lover is an advertisement for them, and 
they cry his name from the house-tops.” 

“When they know it,” observed the marquis. 

“ How ! She did not know the name ... of 
your friend ? ” 

“ He never gave it to her. She always knew him 
under another name.” 

“ And she ? You will tell me her name now ? ” 

“If you require it.” 

“ I do require it. ” 

“She is called Melinite.” 

“ Melinite I Is that the name of a woman ?” 

“I do not know her under any other.” 

“Very well. Thank you. Good-by.” 

He bowed again, and went out. 


IV. 

15th June. 

Thus, he whom I have preferred to all, because 
I believed him more loyal, more loving than the 
others, to whom I have been a devoted and faith- 
ful companion, and the only one to whom I have 
ever given a coquettish look ; he whom I loved as 
much as I believed him to love me; this husband, 
this lover, this friend, tired of me already, in the 
third year of our marriage, takes a mistress, and 
kills himself for her, or because of her. 

Ah ! it is infamous ! What have I suffered since 
this revelation ! ... As much as in his death . . . 
which has come a second time to me. I suffer in 
my cruelly wounded pride, in my love, which I 
believed eternal. I suffer in no longer being able 
to think of the past. I suffer in despising him 
whom I respected. 

No, no, I am wrong in saying that. He is no 
more. I ought to forgive him. Pardon him ? I 
am not able. I could never . . . because he is 
dead. One sometimes forgives an injury, an 
offense, when one can reproach a person se- 
as 


MJ^LINITE, 


29 


verely, can strike, and wound in return, can 
show one^s anger, proclaim one^s grief. But my 
anger is poured out on emptiness ; my cries are 
not heard ; I am not able to ret^jrn him the 
injury he has done me, to say to him: “We are 
quits now, I forgive you.” 

However, he loved me, loved me very much. 
Oh ! I am sure of it. I am not mistaken. . . . 
Why, all at once, did I cease to please him ? Has 
my face changed then ? Am I become less beau- 
tiful ? It is improbable. Some lady friend would 
have found a means to let me know it. ... I am 
inclined to think, on the contrary, that marriage 
has improved my appearance. I never had such 
triumphs as during the last year. My entry at a 
theatre, at a ball, always created a sensation. Peo- 
ple waited to see me pass, and the crowd gave 
utterance to a murmur of admiration. ... I am 
compelled to say so, since it is true, and in this 
journal I tell everything. ... I must, therefore, 
write the remainder. Yes, it is scarcely six 
months ago that a Journalist affirmed that 1 was 
not only the most beautiful woman in Paris, as the 
heroine of a romance which has made a great 
noise, but the most beautiful woman in the world. 
. . . It was the duke, yes, my husband, that 
showed me the article. . . . 


30 


MJ^LINITE. 


I was furious, with good reason, that they dared 
to speak thus of my person ; I wished to protest, 
to have them silenced, hut he said to me with his 
gentle smile . . . Ah ! why do I see it still before 
me ... he said to me : “ My dear wife, it would 
show bad taste to complain. Your name, your 
fortune, your beauty, make you a personage, a 
celebrity. You belong, by right, to the journal- 
ists.” Yes, in place of being angry at this praise 
. . . he who had never sought notoriety for him- 
self, who loved silence, and shade ... he ap- 
peared proud and delighted. He still loved me 
then . . . and yet, this woman, this Melinite ! 
He only wanted her, the marquis insinuated. He 
wanted her ! What has she then more desirable 
than I ? Ah ! I should much like to know. And 
what does it matter to me ! Shall I lower myself 
by thinking of such a creature ! He deceived me ! 
He betrayed me ! That is what touches me. It 
is indifferent to me that it was with this one or 
that, with one kind or another. How perfectly 
he deceived me ! I should never have doubted 
him. ... It is admirable ! What diplomacy ! 
What a comedian he would have made ! What 
correctness in his incorrectness ! Nothing changed 
in his life. If he did not accompany me to the 
theatre, into the world, he passed his evenings 


MiJLINITE. 


31 


near me, at home, in the little blue chamber . . . 
where I dare not enter more ; for I see him always 
seated in the same place ; at what time in the 
day did he deceive me then ? At what hour did 
he love her ? From four to seven, his club time, 
or, rather, it would he more correct to call it, the 
time when married men carry out their amours, 
deceive their wives and commit adultery, while it 
enables them to preserve a correct appearance, a 
last decency. 

From four to seven ! Why do they call these 
women, then, the belles of the night ? It would 
be more just to call them the belles of the day. It 
is true that they do not neglect to take advantage 
of the night ; it is then the turn of the bachelors, 
or of those married men who no longer dissimu- 
late, but deceive openly. ... I am not sure that 
I do not prefer these last. . . . Yes, to return to 
their honest, legitimate wives, to pass their nights 
in hypocrisy, their evenings near them, when they 
have sullied themselves all day in the arms of 
others, is a fresh infamy, is a fresh injury. 

I recollect — it is as fresh in my memory as if it 
was yesterday — there was no change, not only in 
his life, in his habits, in the respect and attention 
he paid me, but in his caresses, until the time that 
he was taken ill. Was he really ill ? Was it not 


32 


Mj^LINITE. 


rather a feigned illness, in order to make one 
think that he committed suicide in his delirium ? 
. . . Ah ! he deceived me throughout, and the 
doctor also. . . . 

Yes, the same caresses. I even believe that in 
the last few days he was more than usually amor- 
ous. Eemorse, without doubt, caused that. . . . 
Or, perhaps, it was to deceive me still more, to 
distance my suspicions. ... A guilty person is 
always suspicious. ... And then, . . . the other, 
this Melinite, had taken his fancy, had taught 
him to love her better than myself. . . . Such 
women should be able to do so, it is their trade. 

. . . Ah ! why do we not struggle against them ? 
Why cannot we inspire the same love that they 
do ? It is, perhaps, our ignorance, or, perhaps, 
our decency, our virtue that causes us to lose our 
husbands. They go elsewhere to seek that which 
we do not give them. Less tenderness, ladies, 
more passion. Do they possess more passion ? 
What does it matter, as long as they know how to 
act it . . . and the duke, perhaps allowed himself 
to be deceived. I have often thought he had not 
seen much life until our marriage. He was a clever, 
reserved man. He encountered one bad woman 
and she conquered him. Wisdom went, and folly 
came. 


m^:linite. 


33 


Yet! no, it cannot be that I If he had loved 
her foolishly, with passion, he would have been 
happy, he would not have killed himself. . . . 
There is something else. I would I knew what. 

I have never heard this Melinite spoken of. If 
she was well known, was a leader among such 
women, I should have heard her name. Men no 
longer refrain from speaking before us of them, 
and the mention of an impure name cannot tarnish 
our purity. 

With myself, curious by nature, surnamed by 
some one the living “note of interrogation,” they 
refrain still less. It is not to be denied that I love 
to be instructed, provided that I am instructed 
with tact, and with modesty. They know that I 
hear that only which I wish to hear, and they can 
go on until I stop them with a look, which some- 
times makes these naturalists wish themselves 
under the earth. 

No. I have searched well. . . . Never this name 
of Melinite. . . . Who then, is this girl ? What 
has she so extraordinary, that the duke should pre- 
fer her to myself, should have given her a million, 
and killed himself for her sake ? 


3 


V. 

18th June. 

I KKOW her, that is to say, I have received 
some information about her, for I hope never to 
know her, even by sight. 

It is my little cousin, Arthur de Blazac, who 
has edified me about her. I say “edified.” I 
should say “scandalized.” 

What a funny man is this Blazac ! Lean, piti- 
ful and fair, with his little nose, his little mouth, 
his little hands, his little feet, everything little, 
one might take him, notwithstanding his thirty 
years, to be a pupil of the “Sacre-Coeur,” disguised 
as a boy. 

We hoped, at one time in the family, to have 
made something of him, but he was not long in 
escaping from us in order to lead a gay life, to use 
his own expression; in doing which he has not im- 
proved ; he is more pitiful than ever. He comes 
to sCe me, from time to time, because I am kind 
to him, and do not read him moral lectures ; be- 
cause I allow him to speak freely before me, and 
because he makes his band of gay companions, 

34 


m:^linite. 


35 


both male and female, envious by saying to them : 
“ I have just been to see my cousin, the Duchess 

de X For myself, I receive him when I have 

nothing better to do, as one looks at a society jour- 
nal, or one that pretends to be such. 

Blazac is, in truth, a living gazette, a little 
book ; he relates all the tittle-tattle, knows every- 
thing that passes in Paris, in his Paris, which is a 
sufficiently wicked one ; he knows all the celebrites, 
particularly the women. To-day when he was 
announced I was on the point of saying I was not 
at home, for I did not feel in the humor to be 
amused by him. But the desire to question him, 
to find out certaffi things, came upon me all at 
once, and I said : “Very well ; show him in.” I 
did not lose my time by doing so. Scarcely was 
he seated in a large arm-chair, where he almost 
entirely disappeared, than I directed the conversa- 
tion toward the point that alone interested me. 

“Well, cousin,” I said to him, “you are still 
amusing yourself in Paris, notwithstanding the 
season. Have all your beautiful ' Tendresses,^ as 
you call them, and which, I must admit is a 
good name, taken their fiight since the " Grand 
Prix ^ was run. Tell me, for I am no more in the 
world.” 

“ Cousin,” he replied, trying to smooth an invis- 


36 


MELINITE. 


ible, light mustache, “ Paris is wearied with itself 
since it has lost its idol. ” 

‘‘ What idol ? The general ? ” 

“No, not the general. It is yourself. Cousin 
Olga.” 

“ I ! ” The compliment is so well turned that I 
did not know it was coming. . . . “ Of what Paris 
do you speak, then ? mine or yours ? Mine, you 
never visit ; you sulk with it, and it sulks with 
you. How do you know that it regrets me ? 
Yours, I am not acquainted with . . . happily. 
It neglects me, disdains me, to occupy itself with 
Mademoiselles Lucy Seymour, Nelly Beer, Marion 
de Lorme, Blanche de Closmeuil.” 

“ How do you know these names ? ” he cried, in 
astonishment. 

To know them it is only necessary to read Le 
Gil Bias, and I often read it, and do not hide the 
fact from you that I prefer it to the Gazette de 
France. I could mention to you other well-known 
names : Mathilde de Montalbert, or Louise Babin, 
Henriette la Kusse, Melinite ...” 

“ Oh ! as to that, you have never seen her name 
in Le Gil Blas.^^ 

“Why not ?” 

“She is in bad odor with it.” 


M^ILINITE. 


37 


How is she on bad terms with Le Gil Bias 9 
You puzzle me.” 

“Because she said to Paul and Charles D. that 
she did not want any puffing, and that she would 
give them nothing to write about her.” 

“These women pay those then, that recount 
their triumphs ? ” 

“ Sometimes, but not in money ! ” 

“ In what ? ” 

“In love. Those that are kind to them, they 
are kind to, in their turn. You understand.” 

“It would he difficult not to understand; you 
veil it so thinly, cousin. ... I understand now 
why the same women are mentioned every morn- 
ing : they are those that are amiable every night, 
. . . and Mdlle. Melinite is not in the number ? ” 

“She does not wish to be written about. She 
has the idea of making her way alone.” 

“ And has she made this way ? ” 

“I should think so, she has a million.” 

I started without his perceiving it, for he is as 
short-sighted as he is little. 

Then, making an effort : 

“ A million truly ? ” I asked him. 

“ Most truly, of full value ; in bills, deeds, and 
bonds payable to bearer. I have seen the parcel ; 
it is large.” 


38 


MilLINITE. 


She shows it like that ? ” 

‘‘Certainly, to the women to enrage them; to 
the men to make them give her more. You can 
imagine one would not dare to send five louis to a 
female millionaire.” 

These words, five louis, appeared to him a little 
risky, and he stopped himself, as if he thought he 
had said too much. But I thought that such a 
small person could not say too much, and without 
appearing startled, said : 

“ When she has no longer riches to make a show 
of, what will she do ? She will show then, with- 
out doubt, less grandeur.” 

“She has been rich almost from the time of 
her dehut, thanks to the Baron de Virmeux.” 

“ The Baron de Virmeux ? you were acquainted 
with him then, Blazac ? ” 

“ Not at all ; I have always thought that it was a 
false name. Melinite has had the same idea. 
But she has not cared for that, the important part, 
the million, she has had. Oh ! she will not waste 
her time in a useless search, she is practical. 
Nothing astonishes her, for I have formed her 
mind.” 

“ You have formed it ? ” 

“I mean by that,” he resumed, “that it was I 
that brought her out.” 


MJ^LINITE. 


39 


“A happy idea, indeed, you had there.” 

Full of his subject, he took no notice of the tone 
of my voice, he only thought of the words. 

‘‘Mon Dieu,” he said, “the idea was not so bad : 
disgusted for a long time past with hearing none 
but fair women spoken of, and of seeing them 
lauded to the skies, it came into my head, about a 
year ago, to prove that dark women were quite as 
good. ... I ask your pardon for telling you this, 
cousin, who are so rare a blonde, but your hair is 
your own, and its color is natural, while that of 
three-quarters of the fair women is dyed or false. 
Everybody knows it, and yet they are preferred to 
brunettes, who are far superior to them. . , . 
Therefore, I searched for one, and found her. She 
has had good fortune, and I have proved what I 
wished to.” 

“ Where did you find her, in the South ? ” 

“ In Paris, quite simply, at the house of a blonde, 
whose maid she was.” 

“ Ah ! your Melinite was formerly a lady^s maid ! ” 

“ Yes, cousin. You are not astonished, for many 
of our ‘ swell women ^ have commenced like that. 
... I raised the servant to a mistress ; I improved 
her manners, and bought her some better clothes.” 

“Oh ! you clothed her.” 

“ Afterward. I furnished a small house for her. ” 

“You do these things well.” 


40 


m^:linite. 


“ If I had done them better, if I had ruined my- 
self for her, what should I have proved ? That I 
love dark women. It would only be a personal, 
isolated case. I wished to prove that she could 
please others, everyone, and I have proved it.” 

“ Your brunette does not owe her success en- 
tirely to the color of her hair, perhaps. She has 
other qualities ; no doubt she is beautiful.” 

‘‘Not at all. She is small, thin, with hollow 
eyes, a turn-up nose — a true soubrette nose — 
pointed teeth, life a she-wolf, thick and very red 
lips, a pale complexion. This is an exact photo- 
graph of her. You can understand, cousin, that 
I should not have been foolish enough to find and 
bring out a beautiful woman, because, as you would 
have justly observed, it would not have been the 
color of her hair alone that would have tri- 
umphed.” 

“ Are you sure, Blazac, you are not mocking me ? 
You will never persuade me that any one would 
give a woman a million simply on account of her 
black hair. I repeat it, there must be some other 
reason.” 

“ Another reason, without a doubt ; she is, she 
is . . . pardon the expression . . . she is like 
a dog, that is to say, very forward, very pas- 
sionate.” 


MJ^LINITE. 


41 


“Oh! do not explain; the dog is sufficient.” 

“And then,” continued he, without attending to 
me, “she is corrupt.” 

“ Corrupted by you ? ” 

“ No, she was horn so. There are some women 
who come into the world like that. One can tell 
them by certain signs, and they should be drowned 
at twelve years of age.” 

“ Is it you, who speak thus ? ” 

“ Why not ? One may cultivate vice oneself, 
and yet deplore the effects upon others. ... Yes, 
as long as people refuse to adopt my plan of 
drowning them, unhappy is mankind I When one 
of these creatures has any interest to decoy a man, 
he is lost. The coldest, the strongest, the most 
invulnerable will end by inflaming them, and they 
will be blown up. That is why, cousin, I called 
her of whom we speak. Melinite.” 

“Oh I you baptized her also ?” 

“Certainly, before bringing her out. I gave 
her the name of the latest explosive compound, 
that which is the most powerful of any.” 

“ Yes, terribly powerful, instantaneous,” I said, 
sadly. 

“ That depends,” he replied ; “ I have studied the 
properties of melinite . . . you know I am very 
fond of chemistry . . . it is a slow explosive, that 


42 


m:^linite. 


is to say, in certain cases ; it takes effect slowly, 
like a wedge that is driven with blows from a 
hammer into a resisting mass. ... Oh ! I am 
well versed on this question. I do not baptize a 
woman, as one baptizes a child, without knowing 
why it is called Jacques or Jean. I called her 
Melinite because, like this explosive, she has a 
harmless appearance, that she appears, and is abso- 
lutely inoffensive under ordinary conditions. She 
can clash violently against another body, she can 
approach the heat, and she will not explode if 
she is not prepared to explode. But if she is, if 
she has been placed in contact with a good fulmi- 
nating capsule, get out of the way. The explo- 
sion is formidable, she kills all that she meets.” 

“Yes, she kills,” I repeated. 

Fearing that he would perceive my emotion, I 
compelled myself to add : 

“It appears that she has not killed you.” 

“ Oh ! I,” said he, with the air of a conqueror, 
with a new effort to stroke his absent mustache, 
“ I have . known so many explosives. They are 
most dangerous to the clever and the strong, who 
count upon their strength and their wisdom, who 
think that they have nothing to fear from so 
small an enemy, and allow themselves to approach 
it. They resemble an iron-clad opposed to a tor- 


MJ^LINITE. 


43 


pedo. For myself, I know that I am feeble, and 
not wise, and I keep upon my guard. Besides, 
after launching Melinite, I took to flight, through 
fear of an explosion. I will add, cousin, since you 
do not stop me, that she has no interest in entrap- 
ping me, or in destroying me. She knows well 
that I shall not make her fortune, and she there- 
fore waits a better occasion, for I have said, I 
believe, that Melinite explodes at will.” 

At the will of others as much as your Melinite 
explodes at her will, when she wishes to do evil.” 

“Not always. She has her sudden fancies, her 
whims, her moments of amorous folly, that may 
expose herself, also, to serious dangers. Up to 
the present time she has escaped them, because 
she has not found any serious resistance, but has 
broken down all obstacles. If she encounters an 
exceptional being, endowed with the elasticity of 
tempered steel and the hardness of cement, which 
alone can resist Melinite, she will inflame herself 
to no purpose, and will consume herself alone.” 

“ Oh, well ! I wish . that the miserable being of 
whom we have spoken too long, may encounter 
this exceptional being. Good-by, cousin.” 


VI. 

In the hope of getting in the Bois de Boulogne 
a little fresh air, after a very warm day, I dined 
yesterday earlier than usual, and toward eight 
o^clock I left my hotel with my lady companion. 

At the Arc-de-Triomphe I ordered the coach- 
man to drive to the Bois by the Maillot gate. With 
my black carriage and liveries, my dark bay horses, 
and gloomy appearance, dressed in an Indian robe 
of cashmere, trimmed with crape, and a bonnet 
embroidered in white, covered with a heavy dark 
veil, I should have felt myself a discordant note 
in the avenue of the Bois de Boulogne, for it was 
still light, and very crowded. 

Some minutes afterward, as I was passing in front 
of the Ermononville pavilion, I resolved to stop at 
the Allee des Acacias, near this quiet restaurant, 
which was not so public as the Cascade or the Cha- 
teau de Madrid, and have some ices brought to me, 
which both my companion and myself felt in great 
need of, for the evening was as hot as the day had 
been. My footman went to order them, and I was 
waiting for them, when a well-horsed victoria, of 

44 


MELINITE. 


45 


good appearance, drew up at the end of the alley, 
as my carriage had done, but facing me. 

As soon as it had stopped, the person who occu- 
pied it, without stepping out, called in a loud voice 
to one of the restaurant waiters. 

I am not coming in. Is there any one I know 
here ? Is the Vicomte de Blazac inside ? ” 

Hearing the name of my cousin Blazac men- 
tioned, I could not refrain from glancing at my 
neighbor. 

What a droll little woman, and what a singular 
toilet ! A large stiff collar and an enormous scarf 
round her neck, her thin body inclosed in a waist- 
coat and tailor jacket, the one of white silk, the 
other of black cloth ; upon her head a soft felt 
hat, such as men wear when traveling, half cover- 
ing her short black hair, slightly curled in a 
fashion which, I believe, is called the “ Coiffure a 
le Belbeuf.” Truly, thus accoutered, one might 
have doubted her sex, if it had not been for 
the light and scanty black silk skirt, evidently 
designed to show her form, but well modeled and 
well made. 

While I made this rapid inspection, a waiter 
brought the ices, and to enjoy them I was obliged 
to raise my black veil, lowered until then. 

Scarcely was my face uncovered, than my neigh- 


46 


Ml^LINITE. 


bor made a gesture of surprise, as if she had recog- 
nized me. Then, raising herself all at once in her 
carriage, with her hands pressing upon the cushions, 
and her head forward, she looked at me intently. 
I was about to return my ice, lower my veil, and 
give the order to depart, when suddenly Blazac, 
who I had not noticed coming, appeared at the 
door of my laudau. 

“ What, cousin, is it you ? I was told that some 
one was asking for me, but I declare, I did not 
hope ...” 

I inclined myself toward him, and, speaking in 
a low, quick tone : 

“ It is not I who asks for you. It is this woman 
facing me, in the victoria. Do not look at her 
while you are speaking to me.” 

The caution came too late. Blazac, his eyeglass 
in his eye, had already looked, and said : 

“ Why, it is Melinite ! ” 

Melinite ! It was my turn to raise myself in- 
stinctively. But, at the same moment, I lay back 
upon the cushions of the carriage, into which I 
sank as far as possible, in order to banish this 
creature — to place a greater distance between her 
and myself. It was the movement of a person to 
whom some one has said, all at once: ‘‘Take 


m:^linite. 


47 


care, there is a viper ! ” One raises oneself to look 
at the beast, then recoils, frightened. 

But the first movement that I had made recalled 
to my mind that of this woman when I had raised 
my veil. How could she know me ? Does she 
know the true name of the Baron de Virmeux ? 
Has she said to herself, seeing me : “ It is the wife 
of the man whom I have murdered.” Then, turn- 
ing again to speak to Blazac, in a very low, quick 
tone, I asked him : 

‘‘ Does she know me ? ” 

‘‘Very well,” said he. “The other day when 
leaving your house the idea came into my head 
of going to see her ; and when she said, ‘ What 
good wind brings you ? ^ I replied : ‘ I was passing 
your windows, I have just come" from seeing my 
cousin, the Duchess de X. . . . ^ ‘ The duchess 
is your cousin ! ^ ‘ Certainly, and I am proud of 

it." ‘ You are right, for she is the ideal of beauty. 
I have never seen any one more perfectly charm- 
ing, and of exquisite distinction ; and as for her 
person"” 

Blazac was continuing, believing that ^these 
eulogies fiattered me, whilst on the contrary they 
made me indignant. 

“Enough,” I said, nervously. “How does she 
know me ? Where has she seen me ? 


48 


M^ILINITE. 


“At several charitable fetes.” 

“ I was alone, then, without the duke ? ” 

“ Probably. It is not usual for stall-keepers to 
be assisted by their husbands. They would sell 
less, and the poor would lose . . . She has seen 
you, also, several times, since you have been a 
widow, and she thinks you still more beautiful in 
your widow^s weeds ”... 

This time I had no occasion to interrupt him. 
An imperious voice cried : 

“ Blazac, come here.” 

My cousin, who has preserved some remnants of 
good manners, pretended not to hear, and did not 
move. 

But fearing a new appeal, fearing that she 
might even come to him in order to look at me 
more closely, I lowered my veil, wrapped myself in 
my shawl, and gave the order to my coachman to 
proceed. 

Blazac had the good taste to remain in the same 
place, with his hat in his hand, and did not rejoin 
his . . . “ Tendresse ” until after I had gone. 

Now, seated in a corner of my carriage, crossing 
the Bois in the deepening shadows, in the mist 
which is covering the lawns and shrubberies, I see 
again, notwithstanding my efforts, the image of 
my rival, of her who has made me a widow, and. 



P. 1(). WHILST I SLEPT, HE POSE FPOM HIS BED, TOOK FROM: 

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49 


singularly enough, in place of crying : “How has 
he preferred her to me ? What insanity ! ” in 
place of criticising her figure, her face, I say : 
“ Her eyes are small, but what a look ! The eyes 
of a bird of prey, who fascinates its victim in order 
to devour it more easily. ... If her nose is badly 
designed, her open nostrils animate her face, give 
life to her. She smells for . . . the blood of her 
victim, without doubt . . . like every carnivorous 
animal. . . . Her very white teeth, though 
irregular, are pointed. Ah ! she should know how 
to bite ! . . . Her body is lean, without doubt ; 
it is the body of a young girl, rather than that of 
a woman ; but some men prefer, they say, an out- 
line to a finished design, a bud to a fiower, a young 
girl to a mature woman. ... Yes, I can explain 
now why it is that a man can desire this creature, 
can prefer her to others, can prefer her to all. I 
can explain her success, her fortune; why she is 
irresistible; why she has been given the name of 
Melinite. I can explain the treason, the death of 
my husband.” This is what I said to myself last 
night, crossing the Bois. This morning I can say 
nothing ; I can explain nothing, and may God 
keep me from all explanation. 


4 


VII. 

25th June. 

Since I have been a widow everybody in my 
house seems to be getting married. It is a sort of 
epidemic. Do people consider mine an enviable 
position, and take the only way to become widows 
themselves? My steward set the example some 
weeks after the death of his master. I have not 
replaced him ; it is a great saving, considering 
everything. My lady companion left me yester- 
day to marry again — to have a second wedding. 
Poor woman ! I shall not replace her before the 
winter, and not then if I can do without her. 
But now, my own maid, a woman thirty-five 
years of age, who, I believed, had vowed eternal 
celibacy, has left me to marry an hotel-keeper in 
the neighborhood. This last I must replace ; un- 
happily I am not able to manage for myself. 
Ah ! if I could ! To procure a new one I had 
written to a servants^ agency in the street of the 
“ Faubourg Saint Honors. But they sent me one 
that did not suit me. As I am going to pass the 
summer in the country, on my property at 

5 ° 


MELINITE. 


51 


Pas de Calais, I want a maid that knows her busi- 
ness, and of sufficiently good appearance to go out 
with me, if I wish to take a walk in the country. 
I hope in this way to find combined, at the same 
time, for some months, a maid and companion, and 
in place of being condemned to see two new faces, 
to see only one, which has its advantages. In order 
to explain better, this time I went myself to the 
office in question. I sent the footman in to ask 
the manager to come out, and, without quitting 
my carriage, I told her my trouble. As she went 
away, I perceived Blazac, who had just stopped at 
the door where I was still stationed. He had his 
eyeglass upon his nose, and seemed to be looking 
for the number of the house. 

“ Blazac ! ” 

He turned round, recognized me, and in the 
same tone that he said three days before, “Why, 
it is Melinite ! ” he now said, “ Why, it is my 
cousin Olga.” 

“ Yes, it is I,” said I, smiling, while he approached 
me. “ What a funny place Paris is! Years pass 
without meeting a person, and in the same week 
one meets him everywhere.” 

“ A happy week, cousin ; I will mark it in my 
calendar with a cross. But would it be indiscreet 


52 


m^:linite. 


to ask yon what yon are doing here at eleven 
o'clock in the forenoon ? ” 

“If it had been an indiscretion I shonld have 
hidden, and shonld not have called to yon.” 

“Evidently ; that is why I ventured to ask yon.” 
“\Yell,” I replied, “yon find me before this 
house becanse it is an agency for servants. ” 

“I was seeking it myself when yon perceived 
me.” ^ 

“ Have yon also need of a lady's maid ? ” asked 
I, smiling. 

“Yes, hnt not for myself.” 

“ For whom then ? ” 

“For ... in short, if yon mnst know, for 
Melinite.” 

“ Ah ! ” 1 said, irritated at hearing this name 
again. However, fearing he might he astonished 
with this sndden bad hnmor against a woman, I 
only knew by sight, I added : 

“ She charges yon with her commissions, then ? ” 
“Yes, consin, often; and I do them. What 
wonld yon have ? with certain women it is neces- 
sary to . . . blow np, or to render them some little 
service. I prefer giving the little service. . . . 
Yon are not hnrt at these artistic expressions ? ” 
“Artistic ! Yon are severe npon art.” 

“At present it is a pleasnre to oblige Melinite. 


M^ILINITE. 


53 


She has been charming to me since our dinner in 
the Ermenonville pavilion. ” 

“ Ah ! you finished by dining together at nine 
o^clock in the evening. It was time. ” 

“ In our gay life, cousin, there is no dinner hour. 
Breakfast, dinners and suppers are all the same. ” 
“ Excellent for the stomach. ” 

“That is of no consequence with us. . . . During 
our dinner we were speaking of you the whole 
time. 

“Of me, with such a woman ! ” 

“ I could not do otherwise. I tried to turn the 
conversation, but she always returned to it . . . 
to her favorite topic : your incomparable beauty.” 
“I must ask you to be silent,” I said, severely. 

Mon DieUy cousin, I do not want to wound 
you. To be sincerely admired generally gives 
pleasure. It would with myself. . . . Besides, it 
was not a question only of your beauty. Melinite, 
like the rest of that species, is very curious about 
all which touches ladies of the true world. Nothing 
astonishing, for great ladies are curious about 
them. Also, she had a string of questions, upon 
your way of living, your habits, our relations. . . . 
She counseled me to see you frequently, to live in 
good society. ... In short, she has become quite 


54 


MJ^LINITE. ' 


agreeable, so agreeable for three days that I am 
beginning to feel afraid.” 

“ Afraid of what ? ” 

“Of her. You understand, an explosion ! ” 

“ It will be very tardy ! ” 

“I have told you that melinite produces a 
frightful effect when it explodes, but it works 
slowly also. . . . Those were my own expres- 
sions, cousin.” 

“Yes, I know; do not recommence, I pray 
you.” 

“With her, you see, it is necessary to be upon 
one^s guard, above all at the end of June, in the 
first heat of summer. ... I recollect, once, about 
the same time, she disappeared with a man, ah ! 
what a man! the great Bonneuil. . . . You know 
him?” 

“Not at all.” 

“ I thought you did. He was a light tenor ; his 
name was upon all the programmes. ” 

“It escaped my notice. One is not perfect.” 

“This Bonneuil knew her well; he had sur- 
sounded his body with cement and was enabled to 
resist her without an explosion. Not used to this, 
she became infatuated, and as Bonneuil was leav- 
ing Paris to go out on a foreign tour, she engaged 
herself in the troupe.” 


' MELINITE. 


55 


“ Is she, then, a comedian ? ” 

“ She is a horn actress ! She plays comedy, the 
drama, she sings, she dances, and has a talent for 
making faces ! This tour cost her twenty thou- 
sand francs.” 

‘‘ How, did she have to pay ? I thought, on the 
contrary, that the artists received a salary.” 

“ So they do, but her manager, the great 
Shirmann, a wag who understands women, had 
stipulated for a heavy forfeit if she broke her 
engagement. She broke it at the end of fifteen 
days. That imbecile, Bonneuil, had taken off his 
cement, and been blown up. . . . After the ex- 
plosion there was no more melinite.” 

And no more of Bonneuil ? ” 

“Yes. They found him, but in a very bad 
state ; he had lost his voice. I fear the same thing, 
and to avoid it, I think, after this evening, I will 
take my flight toward the sea.” 

“ An excellent idea. Some sea bathing will do 
you good. . . . Adieu, cousin, until next Novem- 
ber.” 

“An age ! Will you remain all that time in the 
country, by yourself ? You will be very tired of it.” 

“Because I shall be alone ? You are polite. . . . 
Be so kind as to tell my coachman to return to the 
hotel.” 


VIIL 


26th June. 

I WAS sitting in my favorite chamber, shortly 
after noon, when the following note was brought 
me : 

‘‘ Madame the duchess can have every confidence 
in the name of Louise Bauquet, who I have the 
honor to send to her with this. I have gone myself 
to the ladies she referred me to, and they have all 
given me the very best report of this person. I 
shall be happy if she suits madame the duchess, 
whose very humble servant I have the honor to be.” 

Below these words was the name of the manager 
of the agency to whom I had spoken, and in a 
corner of the paper the number of the house was 
printed. I gave the order to introduce Louise 
Bauquet. 

She pleased me at first sight ; neither awkward- 
ness nor too much assurance. A simple but suita- 
ble toilet, that of a maid who was destined to go 
out sometimes in the country with her mistress ; a 
little straw hat, a princess robe of gray mohair, 
drawn in at the waist. 


56 


MELINITE. 


57 


‘‘You have served as a lady's maid before ? ” I 
asked her. 

“ Yes, madame the duchess, in several places." 

“ Then you know how to dress hair, and could 
sew a little, if required, no doubt ? ” 

“Better than that, madame the duchess, for I 
have always cut out and made my own dresses.” 

“I am leaving to-morrow for the country, a 
solitary part of it, at Pas de Calais, near the sea. 
Are you not afraid of feeling wearied, and of 
wishing to return to Paris, which would be very 
embarrassing for me ? ” 

“ Madame the duchess need not fear that, for I 
am very fond both of the country and the sea.” 

“ Has what I desire been explained to you — a 
maid, who, in certain cases, could go out with me, 
accompanying me ? ” 

“As to that I cannot be certain of suiting 
madame. I can only ask her to think the best she 
can of me, and to ask herself if, in the street or 
in the fields, she would feel ashamed of me.” 

This rather pretentious reply did not sound so, 
because it was spoken in a soft voice, with lowered 
eyes, and with a half smile. This half smile 
showed also the half of some teeth I thought I 
had noticed before. Besides which, in an instant, 
I said to myself : That face, that physiognomy, is 


58 


MJ^LINITE, 


not unknown to me ; I have seen it somewhere. 
But the Venetian blinds being closed, because of 
the sun, did not permit me to see very well, more 
particularly as Louise Bauquet was sitting with 
her back to the light. 

I quitted my place, and approaching the open 
window I drew back one of the blinds without 
appearing to take notice. This movement obliged 
Louise Bauquet to turn round and face the win- 
dow. 

Then I remained speechless. I believed that I 
saw standing facing me, in the sunlight, the 
Melinite I had seen once before, in the twilight. 
It was the same profound, fascinating look, the 
same dilated nostrils, the same half-opened, 
lascivious mouth. 

But whilst looking at her, I said to myself : I 
am the victim of an hallucination. In conse- 
quence of occupying myself with this woman, of 
speaking of her, of thinking of her, I have fin- 
ished by seeing her everywhere. The other even- 
ing in the Bois, in the darkness, with my eyes shut, 
she appeared to me. She appears now in broad 
daylight, with my eyes wide open. I am awake, 
but dreaming. 

Certainly, I am dreaming. Melinite is dark, 
this girl is fair. . . . Well, but what does that 


MJ^LINITE. 


59 


prove ? What does the hair matter, in our days ? 
If one has time, it is easy to dye it. It is not dif- 
ficult to effect a complete transformation. But 
this one is taller than the other. . . . Well ! it is 
her Louis XV. heels and her pointed straw hat, 
whilst the other evening she had on a man’s hat, a 
soft, flat felt. 

Am I mistaken ? Is this actually Melinite ? 
What folly ! AVould she dare to come to my 
house ? Why should she come ? While I gaze at 
her thus, she preserves the same calm and tran- 
quil bearing. But why not ? Did not Blazac 
tell me that she is a natural comedian ? The 
part of a soubrette is familiar to her . . . and be- 
sides, I remember she has been a lady’s maid 
before ! To-day, she is only resuming her old 
business. 

Ah ! this idea is too strong for me, I cannot rid 
myself of it. 

Let me see if the two voices resemble each 
other. 

“ What wages do you require ? ” I asked her, 
shortly. 

“ Whatever madame the duchess chooses to give 
me. I will only remark, that if you do me the 
honor of taking me out with you sometimes, it 
will cause me some expense, and ...” 


60 


MJ^LINITE. 


“I will take care that you shall not lose by 
that.” 

No, it is not the same voice. This is softer 
and more sedate. . . . What does that show ? I 
do not know the other, the true . . . An order 
given, from a distance, to the porter at the 
Ermenonville pavilion, and these words, “ Blazac, 
here ! ” 

Is that sufficient to enable me to make a com- 
parison to judge ? 

Ah ! I will finish now by proving to myself that 
I am dreaming. 

“You have spoken of references,” I continued. 
“Are they the papers that you have in your 
hand ? ” 

“Yes, madame the duchess, these are they.” 

She handed me several letters. I glanced over 
them. They were all dated before the time at 
which Blazac had told me that he “ brought out ” 
Melinite. “These letters are dated a long time 
ago,” I observed. “The latest is more than a 
year old. What places have you been in since 
then ? ” 

“ One only. I was, and I may say I am still, 
for I have not left it, at Madame de la Bere, in 
Francois Premier street.” 

“ A married woman ? ” 


MELINITE, 


61 


“ Yes, madame ; married and with children. Oh! 
a highly respectable lady. ” 

“ And how long have you been there ? ” I asked 
her. 

“Fifteen months.” 

“I will see this lady myself about you.” 

“Very well; she knows that I am compelled to 
leave her to earn a little more. ... I have to 
assist in supporting my family.” 

“ When shall I find her at home ? ” 

“All day. Madame seldom goes out.” 

“ Then I will go and see her to-morrow morn- 
ing, and if I am satisfied with what she tells me, I 
will engage you.” 

“ I thank you very much, madame the duchess, 
for I have now great hopes of entering your serv- 
ice. ... It is impossible for Madame de la Bere 
to tell you anything that is not good about me.” 

She bowed in a very proper manner, and retired. 

Have I not sufficient to convince me now ? Is 
it admissible to suppose that Melinite can be at 
once a lady^s maid and a leader of the demi-monde, 
as Blazac said ; that she lives at the house of 
Madame de la Bere, and at the same time in her 
own ; that she dines at the Ermenonville pavilion, 
and yet serves her mistress; that she wants a 
maid, and yet is seeking to become one. Shall I 


62 


MtLINITE. 


go and personally convince myself by seeing this 
Madame de la Bere ? I feel certain it is a useless 
thing to do. Louise Banquet appeared so certain 
about her. Would she have given the name and 
address of her old mistress — have sent me to her 
for a reference, if she had anything to fear ? De- 
cidedly, I shall not trouble myself, and I will 
write to-morrow morning to the agency, and say 
that the young woman suits me, and I will 
engage her. 


IX. 

27th June, 11 a. m. 

Last evening, and during the night, I saw 
Melinite again, in the guise of Louise Bauquet. 
She appeared to me with the same face, in her 
maid^s costume, dark, small and thin. The hal- 
lucination has returned, or, rather, my doubts 
have come back. 

Yes, my doubts ! What confidence, I said to 
myself, can I have in these agencies ? Have they 
not, before now, even recommended thieves that 
they thought were honest people ? And my imag- 
ination, over-excited for some days, fabricated a 
little romance : 

Blazac told his Melinite that he had just met 
me at the door of the agency, and that I also 
sought a maid. Then this girl, curious to know 
more of me, to penetrate into the life of an honest 
woman and a great lady ; this creature, acquainted 
with every weakness, with every folly, took it into 
her head to retake, for a time, her old trade, to 
return to her first condition, and to enter my 
service. 


63 


64 


M^ILINITE. 


She loses no time ! She disguises herself, trans- 
forms her self, and goes to the agency. 

There she shows her references, the old, the 
true ones ; asks for a place in a good house, prom- 
ises them her first month’s wages, and, in addition, 
gives them some louis on account. The directrice, 
disposed to favor her, and desirous of suiting me 
as quickly as possible, said to herself : “ It is a 

matter for the duchess to -decide.” . . . And 
sends me her protegee. 

This is my little romance. But about Madame 
de la Bere, to whose house I am going for infor- 
mation. Ah ! well ! Louise Bauquet thinks I 
shall not go because she asked me to go. This is 
what passes through my mind. Yet, last night, I 
decided not to trouble myself. In all probability, 
there is no such person as Madame de la Bere. 

But if there is ? If Louise Bauquet has truly 
been her faithful servant for fifteen months, and is 
still living with her ? In that case, she is not 
Melinite. My principal personage, my heroine dis- 
appears, is effaced, and my romance with her. I 
must ascertain, then, the existence or the non- 
existence of Madame de la Bere. 

To what purpose ? Why give myself so much 
trouble ? Why should I engage Louise Bauquet if 


MilLINITE. 


65 


I have doubts about her ? Are there not other 
girls to be obtained in Paris ? 

Without doubt ; and yet I should wish to act 
frankly. I should wish . . . Dear me, what is 
this everlasting curiosity that possesses me ? 


5 


X. 

27th June, 9 o^clock p. m. 

This morning I sent a message for Blazac to 
come and see me. I wished to ask him : first, if 
he had spoken about me to Melinite, and if she 
was aware that I wanted a maid ; second, if he 
thought she had enough audacity to disguise her- 
self and come to my house ; thirdly, what was her 
name before he had baptized her ? If she was 
called Louise Banquet ? 

Blazac would have answered these questions. 
He has his faults, and even vices, but he has still pre- 
served his respect for his family, and he would not 
allow himself to become an accomplice of this girl 
in such a matter. 

Unfortunately he was not to be found. He had 
gone away the night before, without saying where 
he was going. I was not astonished at his depart- 
ure. A last interview with “ the Explosive ” had, 
without doubt, increased his fears, and, faithful to 
his system, always prudent, he* had taken flight. 

I could find out nothing from him, then. But 
there still remained the mistress of Louise Bauquet, 
66 


MiJLINITE. 


67 


Madame de la B^re, at whose house she pretended 
to have been a servant for fifteen months, and sud- 
denly I decided to end it, to ... ah ! I do not 
know why ... go and inquire from her. 

Having arrived at her house in the Rue rran9ois 
I sent my footman to ask if Madame de la Bere 
lived there. 

In my own mind I still thought that the door- 
keeper would reply that no one of that name lived 
there. I was mistaken. This is her house and 
nothing prevents me from seeing her. 

I entered the house, and as I passed the footman 
I said : 

“ Have you asked what fioor she lives on ? ” 

“Yes, madame ; the second.” 

“ Follow me, and wait in the hall. ” 

It was a house of good appearance, with a nice 
staircase. At the second floor I stopped and rang 
the bell, and Louise Banquet opened the door. 
Without speaking she w^alked in front of me, to 
show me the way. I took advantage of the oppor- 
tunity to examine her from behind. Her shoul- 
ders are rounded, her waist is well-proportioned, 
her hips are well developed. The woman that I 
had seen the other night in the Bois, was not half 
so plump. I believe in padding to a certain ex- 
tent, but one can nearly always discern it if it is 


68 


MJ^LINITE. 


overdone. Her heels are not too high, and she 
walks with grace. She is bareheaded this time, 
and I can also state, without fear of being mis- 
taken, that her auburn hair is her own, and, like 
my own, of a natural color. She opens a door, 
introduces me into a room, and, wheeling forward 
an arm-chair, asks me if I will wait a few mo- 
ments. Left alone, I look around me in the hope 
that I may see something that will enlighten me 
as to the social position of Madame de la Bere. 
But there is nothing peculiar about the room. I 
have seen the same thing in my walks through the 
shops of the “ Bon Marche ” and the Louvre, fur- 
nished in the eastern style, with very low chairs, 
heavily cushioned, couches covered with dark- 
colored velvet, and the usual tapestry hangings. 
Since so many new shops sell furniture, one does 
not know what to buy : honest women and dis- 
honest women buy from the same places, and 
buy the same furniture. The things on the 
mantelpiece might tell me something. No. A 
simple vase filled with fiowers. On the walls are 
a few pictures, in gilded frames, by good artists. 
Poor painters. This is what their works come to. 
And is there nothing here to tell me anything ? 
Ah, upon a little chair, a large doll, and quite 
new. I am tempted to believe it has just been 


MJ^LINITE. 


69 


placed there to show there are children in the 
house. 

Motherly coquetry, no doubt. 

I hear a door shutting, and the sound of foot- 
steps. It is she, evidently. 

A pretty woman, fair, with a clear white skin 
and soft blue eyes. These appear tired, and 
slightly inflamed, as if she had been crying, and 
have blue circles under them. A pretty nose, a 
little mouth, with ruby lips ; her complexion 
slightly reddened, as if she had been taking a long 
walk in the sun, or been having a very animated 
discussion. I can learn nothing from her per- 
sonal appearance unless it be that her very full 
bust appears to want firmness, and that her whole 
body has the same tendency. In short, I must 
admit it : a good-looking person of the conventional 
type, without originality, of no particular style. 
All this does not tell me who she is. There are fair 
and good-looking people in all classes of society. 
Let us pass to her toilet : a woolen robe, drawn at 
the waist, old rose color, dotted with flowers, and 
covered with ribbon and lace. Her hair plaited, 
and wavy over her forehead. Her feet, which 
seemed very small, in simple shoes of black kid. 
It is just the house-toilet of a woman who knows 
how to dress for all occasions. A tradesman’s wife 


70 


M^JLINITE. 


would have put on her best things to do me honor ; 
a courtesan, or a woman of that kind, would have 
said to herself : “ I do not wish to be annoyed 
with her questions, what do I care, though she is 
a duchess. I do not know her, and I am not 
going to incommode myself for her.” And would 
have simply wrapped herself in a dressing gown, 
and rolled up her hair. Madame de la Bere 
knows what is correct, and I begin to class her. 

She advances toward me slowly, with a slightly 
measured step, like an eastern lady of the harem. 
She wishes, without doubt, to give herself time to 
look at me, to judge me, and I believe her judg- 
ment is favorable to me, for her eyebrows lose their 
frown, and she smiles. I am accustomed -to these 
things. At the moment she nears me she manages 
to place her back to the light, and to leave me 
facing it, a thing that I have remarked before ; the 
mistress of a house knows her ground. She profits 
by this to show herself to advantage, and to depre- 
ciate the beauty of others. 

Seated thus, she said to me, without embarrass- 
ment : 

“ Then, madam> you are going to rob me of my 
maid ?” 

She smiled as she spoke, and thus corrected this 
slightly aggressive speech. 


MELINITE. 


71 


I replied, smiling myself : 

“Not unless you are willing to permit it, 
madame.” 

“Alas! I cannot help it,” she replied, with a 
sigh, and lowering her voice, and inclining herself 
to me, as if she wished to confide a secret to me, 
she added : 

“ My husband is in some speculations, and they 
are not looking well at this time ; I have two chil- 
dren to provide for, and I can only give a maid 
low wages. Louise Banquet desires to better her 
position, not for herself, but for her family, who 
she partly supports, and as I am interested in her, 
I allow her to leave. In fact, I was the first to 
counsel her to seek a better position.” 

This very precipitate and well-turned avowal 
looked rather as if it had been prepared for the 
occasion ; but it was said in a natural and graceful 
manner. Decidedly I was in the presence, not 
only of a woman of my world, but of a woman of 
good breeding, and I felt myself put out when she 
avowed with so much frankness her lack of fortune. 
I suffered to think that . . . merely because I was 
richer than she was, I was about to take a servant 
from her to whom she seemed attached, and I 
could not help saying : 

“ I am truly sorry ...” 


72 


MELINITE. 


“ She stopped me : 

“ Sorry, why ? If Louise does not enter your 
service she will, not the less, seek another place, 
and will not be long in leaving me. Therefore, do 
not think of that, if she suits you.” 

The more to ease her, I replied : 

I trust to you alone, madame, to tell me if you 
think she will suit me. You ought to know her 
well, if she has been, as she affirms, in your service 
for more than a year.” 

‘‘Yes, about fifteen months.” 

“ And you have never had to complain of her ? ” 

“I have only had to praise her.” 

“ She is intelligent, is she not ? ” 

“Oh, yes ; very.” 

“ Industrious ? ” 

“Very industrious and fond of work. Nothing 
stops her ; she does not know what fatigue is. 
Day and night, when I have wanted her, I have 
found her always good-tempered, always ready.” 

“ Have you found her honest ? ” 

“ As to her honesty, I can only say I have never 
missed anything since she has been with me. It 
is true, I have always given her anything she 
wanted. But I think that when a mistress is sat- 
isfied with her maid, the least she can do is to pro- 


m^:linite. 


73 


cure for the girl, in her turn, some little enjoy- 
ments.” 

“ Very true ; and I always act in that way, 
madame.” 

“I do not doubt it, and she hopes it also.” 

“ Has she told you my intentions as regards her- 
self while I am in the country ? She will go out 
sometimes with me. She will even act as my com- 
panion, for I shall be alone there this year. Do 
you think, madame, that she will give me satisfac- 
tion ? ” 

“She is capable of anything,” she said, in a 
lively tone. “ For that matter, she has been em- 
ployed by me in a double capacity. She is a well- 
brought-up girl, that wants very little instruction, 
and with whom, I do not hide it, I often willingly 
entertain myself. I shall not replace her easily,” 
she added, with a sad smile, a smile of regret at the 
thought that after what she had told me, she 
would certainly lose her maid. 

“ And why should I hesitate ? Have I not 
received certain proofs that there is no connection 
between Louise Bauquet and Melinite. How can 
I e:5ipect to get from anyone better references than 
she has given me. What reasons could Madame 
de la Be re have to deceive me ? Her desire to 
keep her maid is evident. If she had known her 


74 


MJ^LINITE. 


to have faults would she not have told them to me 
to frighten me, and make me renounce my project. 

“There is nothing more, then, for me to do,” I 
said, on leaving her, “ than to apologize to you for 
the trouble I have given you, and to thank you for 
your kindness ih answering my questions.” 

“ Then you have decided to take her ? ” she 
asked. 

“Yes; for what you have told me about her has 
assured me that she will suit me.” 

“ I am certain of it ; you will never let her leave 
you when you know her as well as I do. 1 also 
think,” she added, with a tinge of bitterness, 
“ that she would not part from you as easily as she 
leaves me.” 

“Why, yours is an excellent place.” 

“Her next one will be still better. She will 
enjoy many things that I cannot give her. . . . 
Then, there is novelty. All girls like a change. A 
new mistress attracts them more than an old one.” 

She decidedly regretted her departure very much 
— a little too much. It was giving an exagger- 
ated importance to a maid. She had been to her, 
certainly, a sort of companion, from her own 
statement. 

But, to conclude, I asked her : 

“When will it suit you, madame, for Louise 


m^:linite. 


75 


Bauqnet to leave your service for mine ? Will you 
fix the time yourself ? ” 

“Take care. I may abuse your kindness.” 

“ Abuse it ? ” 

“ As I told you, I shall replace her with difficulty, 
and I should like to take advantage of her last few 
days with me to get her to do a few little things 
for me that another could not do as well. If I say 
in a week’s time, would you think it too much ? ” 

“ No ; but as I leave to-morrow, she must join me 
in the country. I will leave her my address.” 

“ Thank you very much. Shall I call her in ? ” 

“ Do not give yourself that trouble. I will speak 
to her in the hall.” 

“ Then I will ring for her to see you to the door, 
and will leave you together.” 

I bowed and left the room. 

As soon as Louise Bauquet presented herself, 
she appeared anxious to know the result of my 
conversation with her mistress. 

“I have resolved, mademoiselle,” I said, “to 
engage you.” At the same time I slipped five 
louis into her hand. 

“Thank you, madame the duchess,” she said, in 
a tone in which I noticed some slight emotion. 
“ When shall I place myself at your orders ? ” 


76 


MI^LINITE. 


‘‘ In a week from this time. Madame de la B^re 
wishes to keep you a few days longer.” 

She did not seem to like this ; perhaps she 
feared I might change my mind during this time. 
Perhaps, also, knowing Madame de la Bere better 
than I did, she thought she might give her too 
much work to do this last week. Whilst thinking 
thus, I wrote some lines in my pocket-book, and, 
tearing out the leaf, I gave it to her, saying : 
“You have only to follow out these instructions.” 

This great business is finished, then. It is the 
first time I have given myself so much trouble for 
a maid. 


XL 

2nd July. 

I AKRIVED at my estate of the Euins,” at Pas- 
de-Calais, three days ago. The name of this estate, 
which has belonged to my family for centuries, 
pleased the duke very much when he heard it the 
first time. 

An old castle, is it not ? ” said he. 

'‘Not at all,^^ I replied. "On the contrary, 
quite a modern building, a large villa, rather than 
a castle, built by my father upon the plain extend- 
ing from Portel, a fishing village near Boulogne- 
sur-Mer.^^ 

As he appeared surprised that a modern villa 
should be called the "Euins,” I explained the 
matter to him. 

In the park, and now close to the edge of the 
cliff, in consequence of the encroachments of the 
sea, there still stands the ruins of an old castle 
with its stone turrets, its moat and its drawbridge, 
and projecting upon its walls, respected still by 
the ivy which surrounds it, is the coat of arms of 

77 


78 


m^:linite. 


the Counts of Boulogne, for I am a descendent, 
nearly directly, from those powerful lords. 

Many centuries ago Matthieu d^Alsace, one of the 
aforesaid counts, had seized, apparently by force, 
though it is said with her connivance, the beauti- 
ful Marie, Abbess of Eamsay, and had brought her 
to the castle and married her. Am I sure, with 
her consent ? No, the history is too old. But the 
beautiful abbess is one of my ancestors, and I pre- 
fer to believe, for the sake of the family, that she 
was not the victim of an abduction, but, rather, 
that she followed the dictates of her heart. 
Nothing is more probable at a time when the heart 
spoke much and strongly, for a woman^s life was 
necessarily quiet and without pleasures. In this 
age it is different ; women’s heads have so many dis- 
tractions that their hearts remain inactive, and are 
no longer captured by the prowess of a brave cav- 
alier, as in the good old days. 

The Abbess of Eamsay, from her turrets, had a 
scene under her eyes that was sufficient to please 
and charm her. For myself, since I have been at 
the “Enins,” I have fallen in love with this 
country. It is true that, at the present time, the 
views are much more varied than they were in 
1160, the year of the loves of the count and 
abbess. From the heights, and descending into 


MELINITE. 


79 


the valley, the country extends, with its green 
meadows dotted with flowers. On the side of the 
hill is the little chapel of “Ave Maria,” conse- 
crated to the patron saint of the country, “ Etoile 
de la Mer. Further on, at the bottom, is the val- 
ley of the “Loire,” and its river, silvered by the 
sun. 

Taking a half turn to the left, on my balcony, 
I see the village of Fortel, with its fisheries, busy, 
laborious and picturesque, with its fishermen and 
fisherwomen, descended, as the legend goes, from 
some Spaniards who were cast upon the shore from 
a shipwreck — a shipwreck, the recollection of 
which should make them rejoice. No doubt, from 
their shipwrecked ancestors, they derive their 
sparkling black eyes, their nut-brown hair, their 
little hands and beautiful teeth. 

Yes, I have a great liking for this part of the 
country — my country, I might say, for my an- 
cestors have lived here, have fought here, have 
loved here, since the days of Matthieu d^ Alsace 
and his beautiful abbess. 

I often take a walk into the lofty and old town 
of Boulogne, so distinct from the new, and sur- 
rounded by massive walls that separate it from its 
neighbor. These old walls seem to say to the 
passer by : “ Do not confound me with the other. 


80 


MELINITE. 


The town which surrounds me, which wishes to 
embrace me, and which I keep at a distance, is of 
no merit, is not worthy of your consideration. It 
is worthless, it is too new. I alone am worthy of 
your respect. Only think of it ! I date from the 
Komans, from Julius Caesar. I was then called 
Bolonia, from which has come the name Boulogne. 
I have seen Attilla, the King of the Huns ; the 
great Charlemagne, Philip Augustus, who rebuilt 
my fortifications, and Edward the Third, King of 
England. He espoused, in my cathedral, Isabelle, 
the daughter of Philippe le Bel of France. And 
how many times have I been besieged ! I resisted 
for a month thirty thousand Englishmen and a 
hundred pieces of artillery. What can the new 
town show like this ? ” 

Without listening any longer to the recollec- 
tions of these old walls, I will refresh myself. I 
mount an old worm-eaten ladder, and find myself 
upon the ramparts covered with trees and fiowlBrs, 
a veritable garden in the air. What a beautiful 
promenade is this circular walk, what varied views ! 
What hills, valleys, water-courses, woods ! And 
without wishing to displease the proud old town, 
I see modern Boulogne with its new houses, its 
splendid buildings, its port, its baths, its railroads, 
its life and its casino. And I have been in it with 



P. - 10 . — THE DrCIIESS MEETS MELINITE IN FRONT OF THE 


E R M ON I) V I L LE PA V I L I ON 








MELINITE. 


81 


my husband — a very beautiful casino, large and 
elegant, in a good position upon the shore at the 
entrance to the port, with a large flower-garden, a 
splendid concert-hall ; for the duke, who loved 
Boulogne as I love it, and wished to make it 
attractive to visitors, protected its casino, and did 
not disdain to show himself there with me. 

What a peculiar thing is the love of play. The 
richest people are attracted by it. They will 
spend or give away large sums with the most 
complete indifference, yet, at a gaming-table, they 
are sensible to the most trifling gain, the smallest 
loss. If I had been a man, I believe I should have 
played to enjoy the excitement of the game. 
Though a woman, on one occasion, when my 
husband was with me, I tried a game of baccarat. 
Yes, I dared one evening, after the theatre, to join 
the players in the Casino at Boulogne. Gontran 
did not wish it. 

“It is not your place,” he said to me. 

However, seeing I was very desirous, he permitted 
me. On entering the saloon, and looking round, 
the duke exclaimed : 

“ Mercy, . . . what a number of English. . . . 
I see them on all sides. In the days of Napoleon 
the First they threatened us with an invasion they 
never effected ; now, they do not threaten^ but 
6 


82 


MJ^LINITE. 


they land here every day at all hours. Boulogne 
has become an English colony.” 

So much the better,” I said, “ they bring money 
here.” 

“ Truly, they carry with them pocket-books full 
of bank notes, but are they going to risk it at 
baccarat ? No, they come simply ' to dazzle the 
gamesters. The English always win, because they 
are more prudent in their play, more masters of 
themselves than the French. You can judge for 
yourself. An Englishman is taking the bank. He 
is going to deal. Observe him.” 

“I wish,” said I, timidly, “to play against him, 
to understand it better. Will you allow me to do 
so?” 

“ Oh ! certainly ; I knew what you wished, from 
the moment you entered.” 

“ What must I do ? ” 

“ Place your money upon the table, there ...” 

“Stop ; he has taken it away.” 

“Yes, you have lost.” 

“I will try again, and double the amount.” 

I did so, and lost again. 

“I will double again.” 

“ That is throwing good money after bad, which 
is a grave imprudence,” 


M^JLINITE. 


83 


“Why,” I said, “this Englishman cannot always 
win, every time.” 

“ No, and he knows it well. Observe, he is giving 
up the bank.” 

“ What ! ” cried I, “ after providing himself with 
my money.” 

“ It is not necessary for him to continue. That 
is his strength, the strength of the English. They 
regard us with coolness, profit by our faults, and 
enrich themselves at our expense.” 

“ If I take the bank, perhaps I can do the same 
as he has done.” 

“You take the bank ! It only wanted that. 
However, ladies can not take it.” 

“Why?” 

“ Because the Minister of the Interior and the 
police do not allow it.” 

“ For what reason ? ” 

“It is supposed that women are not skillful 
enough.” 

“ Is there any advantage in taking it ? ” 

“ A very great advantage ; there is not the same 
chance of being robbed.” 

“Then men, playing cards, have a chance of 
robbing women, and the women are not able to do 
the same to them.” 

“Exactly so,” 


84 


MELINITE. 


“Your Minister of the Interior is a moral man.” 

“Ah ! permit me,” said the duke, smiling. “It 
is not my minister. My party does not name the 
ministers, it submits to them.” 

“Let us go,” said I, taking his arm. “I have 
seen enough.” 

“ And lost enough ? ” 

“ Too much, to an Englishman ; it is humiliat- 
ing.” 

“No; it is natural.” 

This is a true account of my visit to the gambling 
circle at Boulogne. Why do I recall it to-day ? 
Ah ! the reason is that in this country everything 
recalls my husband to me. Perhaps that is the 
cause of my coming down here. What happy days 
we passed together on our balcony in the park, or 
driving through the towm or country. If I write 
or describe these things it is because I have seen 
it all with him ; we have admired it all with the 
same eyes, the same mind, the same soul. . . . 
How well he could talk ; he could instruct me ; 
and I was never tired of listening to him. They 
called him cold. He ! whom I have seen so en- 
thusiastic over a beautiful thing, a great idea, or a 
good action. Yes, but he also had a passion for a 
wicked, contemptible creature. How could he do 
it ? Ah ! if she was in my power. ... If it was 


M^:LimTE. 


85 


possible for me to do the evil to her that she has 
done to him, to kill her, as she has killed ; . . . but 
before giving myself this pleasure, this great joy, 
I must question her ; I must know more. 


XII. 


4th July. 

Louise Bauquet arrived yesterday, on the day 
and at the hour appointed. Her eyes are looking 
worn and her figure thin. 

The journey from Paris to Boulogne could not 
have fatigued her much, so I suppose Madame de 
la B^re must have overworked her the last few 
days. But with myself, who do not want her to 
do much work, and with the sea air to assist her, 
she will soon pick up flesh again. A very slight 
thing affects a delicate figure like hers. That kind 
of irregular beauty alters more easily than regular 
features, in which the outlines preserve their reg- 
ularity and their purity in spite of a little fatigue. 
For I am too just not to recognize that this girl, 
without being exactly beautiful, has a very pleas- 
ing appearance. In the last century, men would 
have said, looking at her : She has a wicked eye, 
that of an assassin.” Now they would apply to her 
a phrase which is abused, but which is sufficiently 
expressive of their thoughts : “ She is not beautiful, 
but she is worse than beautiful.” 

86 


MJ^LINITE. 


87 


Beautiful or ugly, it matters little, if she does 
what I require from her, and I believe that she 
will do that. Madame de la Bere could not have 
wished to deceive me when giving her to me as a 
model maid, capable of being a companion if I 
wished it. To let my servants know that she is 
destined for that second occupation, which places 
her above the rest of them, I have given her a 
room adjoining my own, and I have decided that 
she shall breakfast and dine alone, at the same 
time as myself. I attain my aim in this way : I 
keep her from the eyes of the others, and I feel 
less alone, in the night, in this great house, which 
seems very empty now its master is no more, and 
since I have reduced the number of my servants. 
At any rate, if the fancy seizes me, I can, without 
rising from the table, call my companion to go out 
with me. Her duties will not be neglected in con- 
sequence ; they will be done, when she is called 
away, by a young country girl placed under her 
orders. 

All this being arranged yesterday, after dinner. 
I spent the evening in uneasy thought upon my 
balcony, and went to bed when I felt sleepy, with- 
out calling anyone. This morning, then, was the 
first chance I had of appreciating the services of 
Louise Bauquet as a maid. Being desirous, no 


88 


MtLINITE. 


doubt, of showing her zeal from the start, and of 
giving me as soon as possible a proof of her knowl- 
edge, she watched for me to awake. Scarcely 
were my eyes open when she glided into my room, 
softly, upon the tips of her toes, and going to the 
windows, drew back the curtains, carefully, as if 
she feared the light might dazzle me. 

Is it fine ? I asked her, to let her know I was 
awake. 

A superb day, madame the duchess.” 

What time is it ?” 

Nine o^clock.” 

Oh ! it is late ! I am generally much earlier. 
I shall get up.” 

Without any noise she approached the bed, and 
found in a moment what I wished for, as if she 
had arranged it all herself the previous evening, 
and, kneeling down, placed herself in front of me 
to draw on my stockings. As a rule, I do that my- 
self. No doubt, however, she was in the habit of 
dressing her former mistresses from head to foot, 
and as I did not want to sink in her estimation, I let 
her do it, though I might have told her that 
duchesses are often less well served than citizens’ 
wives. 

Before judging her capabilities as a maid, I 
waited to see how she would do my hair, which is 


MtLTNITE. 


89 


a more difficult exercise. After having taken my 
breakfast, which she brought me herself on the 
usual little table, for she seemed to know by in- 
stinct all my fancies, I passed into my dressing- 
room, and told her to dress my hair. 

“In what style, madame,” she asked. 

“ In the same style as yesterday. While I am in 
mourning I do not intend to wear it otherwise.” 

“Would madame,” she said softly, “allow me to 
try a different style, which is quite as simple.” 

“Ah, you think,” I said, gayly, “that I wish to 
know something of your ability ? ” 

“ That would be very natural. ” 

“ True ; and as it is only right to give you an 
opportunity to show it, do it as you please. If you 
do not make it simple enough, you must do it 
again. I only wish you to try this time upon my 
head a simple style suitable for the country.” 

I smiled, and she smiled also, but in a discreet, 
respectful manner. 

Then she commenced, and I must admit I have 
never felt upon my head a more skillful hand. If, 
while she was combing my loosened hair, which 
was hanging in thick waves over my shoulders, she 
encountered a little entangled, rebellious lock, in- 
stead of pulling at it, or trying to break through 
the obstacle, she loosened it gently with her light 


90 


M-^LINITE. 


fingers, that I scarcely felt, and triumphed with 
skill over every difficulty. In completing this first 
work I might, perhaps, have thought she was rather 
slow, and had a somewhat lingering hand. But I 
did not dream of complaining, for I gradually grew 
sleepy under the caress of the comb. This sleep- 
iness, this languid feeling, made me feel comforta- 
ble, and I fell into a little, soft, voluptuous doze. 

My eyes, however, were not quite shut. Through 
the nearly closed hut yet open lids I saw, in the 
mirror placed before me, Louise Bauquet raising 
and lowering her arms, passing from right to left, 
stepping backward to note the effect, to judge her 
work, which was approaching completion. She 
appeared to be very satisfied .with it ; one moment 
leaning toward me she seemed to admire it as if in 
ecstasy. For my part, half asleep, I followed her 
with a pleased feeling, and could not help admir- 
ing the grace of her movements, of her poses, of 
her features, so varied in expression ; with her 
changing eyes, her nostrils dilating, and the few 
little expressions which, while she worked, fell 
from her red lips. She was no more the reserved, 
correct, lady’s maid that I had seen at my house 
and at that of Madame de la B^re. It was an 
artist, who had taken up hairdressing, elevated it 


MilLINITE. 


91 


to an art, and was applying herself to it as a 
painter to his picture, a sculptor to his statue. 

A celebrated costumier, whose advice I once 
asked as to the form of a corsage, replied to me : 
‘‘ I beseech you, madame the duchess, to allow me 
time to become inspired, to isolate my thoughts.” 
And in order to seek inspiration, and to isolate 
them, he raised his eyes to heaven, as Eaphael or 
Murillo must have done when they created their 
Madonnas. 

All at once, in my half sleep, I thought I felt a 
hot breath in my hair, and, at the same time, the 
light contact of something warm and slightly 
humid. 

“ What is that ? ” I cried, drawing away my 
head. 

“It is nothing,” lightly replied Louise Bauquet. 
“ One of madame's hairs was troublesome, and not 
having the scissors in my hand, I bit it off with 
my teeth.” 

At the same time she raised herself and showed 
me, between her pointed teeth, with her lips half 
opened, the end of a fair hair. 

Half smiling and half serious, I said to her : 

“ The next time use the scissors. You will wear 
out your teeth too soon doing that.” 

“ Oh, no ! ” she replied. “ Madame's hair is so 


92 


MJ^LINITE. 


fine. I have never seen anything so beautiful, of 
such a lovely color.” 

^‘Let me see what you have done,” said I, 
quickly, to put a stop to her admiration. And, 
raising myself in front of the glass, I looked at 
my new coiffure. 

She had arranged it in a shape which is called, I 
believe, the “ casque d la Minerve,” and it suited me 
admirably. For a long time I had never seen any- 
thing so well done ; it was perfect ; and I had never 
seen myself looking so charming. In my little 
feminine contentment and self-love I could not 
help saying : 

“It is very good, indeed ; you are very skillful.” 

“Then, if madame the duchess is satisfied,” she 
replied, “ may I dare to ask her a favor ? ” 

“ What is it ? ” 

“ That you will wear this coiffure all day. 

“ Oh ! you wish to have time to admire your 
work. ” 

“ I should wish to have time to admire madame 
the duchess, who is very beautiful thus.” 

“ Is it so ! ” said I, a little ingenuously, a little 
foolishly, for I was still looking at it, and was 
obliged to admit that she was correct. But in order 
to punish myself for my vanity, to punish her 
also, perhaps, for her exaggerated enthusiasm, I 


M^JLINITE. 


93 


added, seating myself : “No ; I shall not wear it. 
Take it down.” 

She obeyed without a murmur, destroying in a 
minute her beautiful work, and in a short time 
she raised another much more simple and suitable. 
“This is very good, also,” I said, to console her. 
In truth, it was not as much to my taste ; the 
“ casque de Minerve ” suited me better. 

After going out into the park, into the mead- 
ows, and making a bouquet of wild poppies, 
daisies and corn-flowers, I returned to the house, 
and commenced writing up my diary. 

On reading what I had written, I asked myself 
why I had said so much about Louise Bauquet. 
That I should interest myself about her as a maid, 
as a hair-dresser, is natural. But it is not natural 
for me to think too much of a person destined to 
be my servant. That I should remark her ability, 
her skill and her tact, is quite right. These are 
her business qualities, which I can commend with 
pleasure, for they make my life easier. But why 
should I trouble myself about her figure, or her 
face ? Why should I write, at the beginning of 
this chapter, that she appeared fatigued when she 
arrived ? I ask myself, because I have always liked 
to analyze my sentiments, the thoughts which I 


94 


MELINITE. 


obey, even when they are of a trivial nature, of 
little things, of insignificant people. 

' After thinking, I believe 1 have found out the 
reason. In the first place, I am here alone, far 
from all novelties, deprived of all amusements ; 
the arrival of this peculiar girl, who appears above 
her station, has been quite a little event for me. 
In Paris, in my former eventful life, it would have 
passed almost unnoticed. Here, it occupies my 
mind more than it deserves. 

The attention which I have given to this subject 
has also, perhaps, a more serious cause. In conse- 
quence of a kind of hallucination, of the condition 
of my nerves, perhaps, I was lately much struck 
with her resemblance to someone else, and even 
aganst my will. I am still, at times, under this 
old impression. My first thoughts have not been 
entirely effaced. In Louise Bauquet I nearly 
always see Melinite. Ho doubt this feeling will 
pass away, like everything else. I am not uneasy 
about it. However, I shall not be astonished if I 
find the name of my new maid often written in 
this journal, during the course of this summer, 
while I am living this idle country life. 


XIIL 


4th July. 

In order to complete my opinion of Louise 
Bauquet, I told her this morning, after breakfast, 
to hold herself in readiness to go out with me about 
three o’clock. In this way I raised her in one day 
from a lady’s maid to a lady’s companion. Is this 
too sudden ; will it make her vain ? Her toilet, 
which I glanced at when she came to me at the 
time appointed, showed me she had good taste in 
dress also. A marine blue cambric robe, with a 
white lozenge, a plaited corsage and belt; upon 
her head a little hat of white straw, with a blue 
ribbon the same shade as her dress ; three but- 
toned gray suede gloves ; in her hand a black silk 
parasol, and over her arm she carried a jacket, as 
a precaution, to put on if the afternoon grew 
colder. It all appeared simple and lady-like, 
without being too elegant ; a toilet that a poor girl 
of respectable parentage might make herself, or 
buy ready-made in any large draper’s shop. Her 
boots, however, that I noticed as she stepped into 
the victoria, could not have been bought at one of 

95 


96 


MELINITE. 


those shops; their English shape was too good, 
their unpolished, fine and supple kid fitted too 
closely to the small, long foot, not to have cost a 
good sum. They must have been worth three 
louis, at least, and for a maid to pay that ! . . . I 
am not just ; she is, at this moment, my compan- 
ion, and she wishes to do me honor. Besides, all 
women have a little vanity, whatever their position. 
This girl knows that she has a pretty foot, and 
has, as is very natural, made some sacrifice, prob- 
ably deprived herself of something else, to buy 
them. 

I signed to her to seat herself by my side. She 
obeyed without embarrassment ; holding herself 
together ; effacing herself in her own corner ; keep- 
ing herself at a distance. I could not place her 
elsewhere, for my victoria has no bracket seat. 

I had not been outside my own gates since my 
arival at the “Ruins,” and I had decided that my 
first visit should be to old Boulogne, which I like 
the best, because my husband used to like it. 
Arrived at our destination, we alighted and en- 
tered the Cathedral of Notre Dame. Then, hav- 
ing said my prayers, I made the tour of the famous 
church to see again its beauties, and, perhaps, also, 
to show them ; I became, in this way, the cicerone 
of my maid. When one admires, one wishes to 


M^ILINITE. 


97 


communicate that admiration to others. One day, 
upon a mountain in the Pyrenees, while watching 
the setting sun, I said to a shepherd, who was near 
me : “ How beautiful this is ? ” He could not 

understand me, but it did me good to speak, to 
tell my enthusiasm to some one. One might wish 
that the some one was presentable, but when one 
has no choice it cannot be helped. Thus I tried 
to make Louise Bauquet admire the altar of Notre 
Dame as I admired it myself, with its marvels of 
old mosaic work, its rare stones, topazes, mala- 
chites and lapis lazuli. After the altar, I showed 
her the Virgin^s chapel, with its floor of white 
Carrara marble, the dome with its arches, the 
cupola, looking so picturesque in its old grayness. 
Remounting the carriage, I yielded again to my 
desire to show a little learning, and recounted the 
legend of Notre Dame. How, in the seventh cent- 
ury, in the reign of King Dagobert, the Virgin 
Mary appeared to the inhabitants of the town of 
Boulogne in a boat which neared the shore with- 
out sails or oars, in which there was no living soul 
but a young virgin of an amiable appearance, 
clothed in modest attire, gracious in her mien, 
and of a greater beauty than any earthly woman. 
The people who saw her, at first were stupefied, 
but she said to them : ‘‘A. divine light shall de- 

7 


98 


m^:linite. 


scend upon you and upon your town. Forthwith, 
then, build and dedicate to my name a church on 
the spot which I have chosen, and which I will point 
out to you.” 

Louise Bauquet listened to me attentively, her 
eyes fixed upon me, as a pupil looks at her teacher ; 
then she said to me : 

Might I venture to ask madame the duchess 
if she believes this legend ? ” 

Slightly embarrassed, for I had not given the 
question much thought, and yet not wishing to 
seem to doubt, I thought I would embarrass her, 
in her turn, and said : 

^^Have you no religion, mademoiselle ?” 

She did not appear troubled at the question, 
and, without compromising herself, without giv- 
ing me a more decided answer than I had given 
her, she said to me, in a gentle voice, with her head 
lowered, very respectfully : 

“It is possible, I believe, without offense to 
religion, not to believe certain things. There is a 
difference between religion and superstition.” 

I was astonished, not at the idea she had 
expressed, but at her well-turned phrase, her way 
of saying it. Decidedly, this girl has a natural 
talent, or she has lived in much intimacy with her 
mistresses. Whilst returning, under the influence 


m:E:linite. 


99 


of the rising tide, the wind freshened, and Louise 
Banquet, careful of her little person, put on the 
jacket that she carried. This garment drew my 
attention by its elegant cut — too elegant. It was 
a kind of tailor-made jacket, that appeared to have 
come from one of the first houses in Paris. 

“ Where did you buy that ? ” I asked. 

“At Printemps, madanie the duchess,” she re- 
plied, as if she had expected the question, and was 
prepared with a reply. 

“At Printemps ! you astonish me.” 

“I assure you, madame, I bought it at a low 
price ; it was what is called a misfit. ” 

“ Did it fit you so well ? ” 

“ Oh, no, madame the duchess ; I altered it 
myself.” 

While looking at it I touched it and half opened 
the neck to see it better. 

“Why,” I said, “it is marked, with the name of 
Printemps, no doubt, since you bought it there.” 

“Yes,” said she, “it had the name of Printemps 
upon it, but I have effaced it.” At the same time 
she opened the neck and showed me a little silk 
band upon which a name, written in gold letters, 
had been carefully scratched out. 

“Why did you scratch out the name,” I asked. 

“Alas,” she said, “from vanity. This jacket 


100 


Mj^LINITE. 


appears to have come from a tailor, and I wanted to 
hide that’ it had only come from Printemps. I have 
told madame the truth. I would not deceive her. ’■ 

Which is the truth ? Did she scratch out the 
name of Printemps or that of the tailor ? The 
Maison bon March6, with its low prices, or that of 
a great tailor, with its ruinous ones ? 

But why do I disquiet myself ? What does it 
matter to me ? . . . Much. It is important for 
me to know if I have in my service a liar and a 
coquette, or merely an able tailoress, who can alter 
garments to perfection, can make a work of art out of 
a jacket from a draper^s shop. Shall I never know 
this girl ? I doubt it. She does not enlighten me 
much. 

However, this evening she said a droll things 
straight from the heart. She was standing near 
me, on the balcony, holding in her hand a glass of 
water I had asked for, and while I was watching the 
stars rising in the heavens, I said, pointing to a 
luminous spot near the horizon : 

“Look ! there is Venus rising.” 

“Venus ! Is it as small as that ? ” she said. 

Why did she think it was larger. She imagined, 
without doubt, that the goddess of love and beauty 
occupied a considerable place in the heavens, be- 
cause of the important part she plays upon the earth. 


XIV. 


18th July. 

For the first time for several years I have 
written nothing in my journal for a fortnight. I 
have had nothing to write about ; no good or new 
thoughts to inscribe. 

To-day I am still short of events and ideas, hut 
it pleases me to relate here the cause of this state 
of affairs. 

As for events, I do not expect them. What 
events can there be in the quiet, regular life 
that I lead. I rise about eight o^clock, have my 
bath, eat my breakfast, make my toilet, walk on 
foot in the park, have lunch, rest for a while, then 
drive in the neighborhood, dine, take another walk 
in the park, read, go to bed and sleep. Every 
morning commences in the same way, and every 
evening ends as the previous one. 

But why this absolute lack of ideas when I have 
always had such an active mind ? Is it in conse- 
quence of my physical existence being so easy, so 
tranquil, that my mind has become so torpid ? 
My body takes life so easily that my brain must do 

lOI 


102 


MELINITE. 


likewise. Has not my existence^ then, always 
been what it is now ? No. Do I live better than 
formerly ? Yes . . . and it is the fault, the great 
fault of Louise Bauquet. 

I have never even dreamt of such perfect serv- 
ice. She is not a maid, a companion ; she is an 
intelligent, skillful and dutiful slave, such as has 
never been seen in an Egyptian or Turkish harem. 
I give no more orders ; she foresees my orders, and 
executes them before I speak. I wish for nothing 
any more ; she wishes for me, before me. I think 
no longer ; she thinks in my place. If, when I 
wake in the morning, I want air or light, she has 
divined it. If, on the contrary, I feel inclined to 
lie in the soft half-light of my room, and think or 
dream, she seats herself at the foot of the bed and 
remains motionless until I am completely awake. 
It is quite oriental. I was quite right in speaking 
of the harem, for sometimes I am tempted to be- 
lieve myself some sultana, or at least the first 
favorite of a pacha. The illusion is much easier, 
as, following the example of the majority of 
Turkish ladies, on leaving my hath I am now mas- 
saged. 

I did not understand being massaged, though I 
had once been ordered it by my physician, when I 
spoke to him of my fear of getting too fat. Un- 


Ml^LINITE. 


103 


fortunately good masseuses are very rare in Paris. 
As to masseurs for ladies ! . . . there are plenty 
of them, and they have many clients, but defend 
me from them. 

After consulting the doctor, without obeying 
his instructions, I grew thinner. . . . No doubt 
from fear of the masseurs. 

For some time past I have neither gained nor 
lost flesh. I have remained stationary. However, 
I have a tendency to gain. 

I told Louise Banquet of my anxiety on the 
subject, and, like any doctor, she counseled me to 
be massaged. 

“It is very easy to talk,” I replied. “Where is 
the masseuse ? I have looked for one before, and 
could not find one.” 

“But I massage very well.” 

“You!” 

“I learned at Hammam with a negress.” 

“ And you have attempted it without the 
negress ? ” 

“Yes, madame the duchess, upon Madame de 
la Bere, and she found it very beneficial. It was, 
perhaps, for that reason, that she regretted my 
departure so much.” 

“Then you really believe in the influence of 
massage.” 


104 


MtLINITE. 


“Yes, when it is properly done, m^dame the 
duchess. As to that, madame will judge for her- 
self. If it is not successful she can discon- 
tinue it.” 

I was willing to try, and it was so successful 
that I continued it. 

She does it to me in the morning about nine 
o’clock. After leaving my bed, I pass into my 
bath-room, constructed after my own designs as 
well as those of my husband. It is a circular 
apartment, the walls are of rose-colored marble, 
sustained by little columns, the tops of which are 
very beautifully sculptured. The light comes 
from on high, from the cupola, which forms the 
roof. It might be called a little Grecian temple. 
“The temple of Venus” the very amorous duke 
called it, in the old days. A bath, or rather a large 
shell of black marble sunk into the floor, contrasts 
prettily with the rose-colored walls, and was des- 
tined, as the duke also said, to display the white- 
ness of my satin-like skin. . . . 

Ah ! he is always in my mind, the ungrateful 
one ! If he found me so beautiful, why did he 
deceive me ? 

Thanks to a perfect system, well carried out, I 
am able, at any hour, to take a fresh water or sea 
bath, either hot or cold, without being at the mercy 


MELINITE. 


105 


of the waves or of bad weather. My . . . temple 
... let the name remain, since it was my husband 
called it so ... is a great advantage over the 
ordinary bathing-house, either fixed or on wheels. 
It gives me the great satisfaction, also, of being 
able to shelter myself from the indiscreet looks of 
the curious. I have tried bathing, like everyone 
else, at Portel, or upon the shore at Boulogne. 
But it annoyed me too much to notice the number 
of opera-glasses and even telescopes that were lev- 
eled at me. The idle people about did me the 
honor, it appears, of learning the hour at which I 
took my bath, and of watching, of spying upon my 
every movement, so that I soon had to give up the 
pleasure of the fresh air, the beach and the rolling 
waves. 

Here, under my cupola, no one can see me but 
my maid, which enables me to dispense with a 
costume at once ugly and inconvenient, another 
advantage of using one's own bath-room. One of 
my friends, however, told me the other day, that 
she never uncovered or stepped into the bath in 
presence of her maid, but always attended to her- 
self when bathing. No doubt decency is a very 
good thing, and I admire it very much, but it does 
not prevent the lady in question from exposing 
herself, by going to a ball in such a very low dress 


106 


MELINITE. 


that it is positively indecent, and a thing that 
I would not venture to do myself. But as regards 
my bath, I shall not imitate her. Certainly, I 
would not do as those Koman ladies did when they 
took their baths, in a state of perfect nudity, 
before their male slaves, saying : “ What does it 
matter, a slave is not a man.” But there is a great 
difference between a male slave and my own maid, 
and I am quite sure I shall not incommode myself 
on her account. Even when dressed I sometimes 
blush under the lascivious look of a man ; but with 
nothing on, I pay no attention to the look of a 
woman, more particularly when that woman is in 
my service for the special purpose of attending to 
my toilet. If in my decency I took alarm at the 
presence of Louise Bauquet, I should have to give 
up my massage, and when it is done, as in my case, 
in order to prevent my getting too stout, it must 
be general and not partial, it must be done upon 
the bare skin, and not over tights or fleshings, 
which was proposed to me once by a certain mas- 
seur, who, no doubt, mistook me for a ballet 
dancer. 

From my ‘‘temple,” then, in a bathing-gown, I 
pass into my dressing-room, and, removing my 
gown, I stretch myself at full length upon a low 
couch, and Louise Bauquet, squatting or kneeling 


MELINITE. 


107 


upon a cushion by my side, commences the opera- 
tion. 

The "first day I was afraid of her hand being too 
cold. I was wrong, her hand is warm, just the 
temperature of my own body. I have said it be- 
fore, this girl knows everything, and what skill, 
what science she displays. How well she knows 
how to find every joint, every muscle ! IIow she 
follows them from their inception to their end, 
from the top to the bottom, from the head to the 
feet. She leans upon the palm of my hand, and 
presses with her fingers. In place of allowing them 
to glide too quickly, she will stop sometimes upon 
a certain spot, a spot which is, no doubt, threat- 
ened with fat, that she attends to more than other 
parts, that slie presses into more thoroughly. All 
this is done with such a skillful hand that I do not 
suffer from it. In fact, it gives me a considerable 
amount of pleasure. And what strength there is in 
this little woman, in this little body ! A nervous 
force, without doubt, the sacred fire also, the love 
of pleasing me, and doing good. At the rate at 
which she works sometimes, the activity which she 
displays, I am certain I should be fatigued at -the 
end of five minutes. She can continue the exer- 
cise for an hour. Her arms, her hands, are in 
constant movement, her body vibrates, as she al- 


108 


MtLINITE. 


ternately presses heavily or lightly upon me. She 
works with energy and amination, and yet does not 
appear to feel it. Her color increases, her eyes be- 
come brighter, her nostrils more dilated, her arms, 
her hands, are never at rest. I am obliged to say 
to her : 

“ Rest yourself now, I have had enough for the 
day.” 

The strangest part of it is, that when she stops, 
I am the one who is fatigued. Yes, it often 
happens after the operation that I fall asleep upon 
my couch in the position in which she has left me, 
upon my hack, or leaning upon my side. Instead 
of going away to take a little rest herself, she 
remains near me, and watches over my sleep. The 
East, always the East. During the day she 
divines if I wish to go for a drive, transmits the 
order to the coachman, without my having told 
her. She knows what carriage I wish to go out 
in, whether open or closed, with two horses or 
only one, whether landau, barouche, victoria, or 
basket-carriage. I have only to step into it, to let 
her conduct me. If I go out lightly clad in the 
summer mantle she places upon my shoulders, I can 
he quite certain that it will not be cold during our 
drive. She can tell the intentions of the sky as 
well as mine. Perhaps she is in the confidence of 


MJ^LINITE. 


109 


the clerk of the weather. On my return I have 
dinner. I eat now, with an appetite I have never 
known before. Is it the massage ? I believe, 
rather, that it is her, always her, who has ordered 
in my name the dishes that she knows I prefer. I 
even suspect, in her zeal for my person, that 
yesterday she went into the kitchen and prepared 
some lobster a TAmericaine herself, for I have 
never known my chef, with all his knowledge, pre- 
pare it in that style before. 

In the evening I no more fatigue my eyes by 
reading. My companion reads to me, clearly, 
simply, in a well-toned, sympathetic voice, warm- 
ing to the subject if it requires warmth. She 
chooses the book which she judges I shall like the 
best. Generally she chooses a modern novel, and 
appears to prefer those that are full of audacious 
actions, but which are written with sufficient dis- 
cretion and tact to render them tolerable. There, 
again, she perfectly understands me without my 
having had to explain to her. In fact, a woman 
well-born and honest, but with a certain amount 
of curiosity, and with a wish to investigate, de- 
ciding to instruct herself, at some little sacrifice of 
decency, in order to know sufficient to enable her 
to escape all dangers, or to fight against them, and, 
notwithstanding the attractions of vice, to remain 


no 


M^ILINITE. 


virtuous, really virtuous. This woman, I say, can 
follow the idea of the author to the end, to the 
very last page, if she has it put before her in a 
veiled manner, even until she touches the facts 
themselves. But if it is put before her coarsely, 
in such brutal language as to shock her eyes or her 
ears, and to revolt her senses, in fact, her very 
being, she takes fright and shuts the book. It is 
frequently doing the author an injustice, for his 
idea, still undecided, would soon have appeared 
clearly and soundly. A great and good lesson 
might have been learned from what at first merely 
appeared a description of voluptuous pleasures ; a 
moral might have been deduced from that which 
appeared immoral. Sometimes, too, it is a loss to 
the fair reader. She might have become inter- 
ested in a remarkable study of human life, a work 
of the first order, if the author, in presenting 
vice as it exists, in its truthful appearance, had 
written more discreetly, painted his picture with a 
lighter hand. 

Ah, well ! I have managed to write something ; 
it is certainly nothing clever or new, but it 
proves to me that my mind awakes at moments, 
and I am very happy to know it. I know at the 
same time that I sleep too much, and on looking 
over this description of how I spend my days, the 


M^ILINITE. 


Ill 


cause is explained to me. The long mornings in 
bed, the bath, the massage, the afternoon siestas, 
the good feeding, all my desires being foreseen, 
my caprices being satisfied, in short, the easy life 
that I lead has finished by killing the activity of 
my mind. . . . And I conclude as I commenced, 
without fear of being mistaken this time, it is the 
fault of Louise Bauquet. 


XV. 

27th July, morning. 

This morning, when she came into my bath- 
room, I said to her : 

“ Xo, not yet. I shall give myself a few minutes 
more.” 

“ I was about to suggest to madame the duchess,” 
she replied, “ that it will do her no harm to remain 
in the bath a little longer this thundery weather.” 

“ There is a storm, then. I thought I saw a 
flash of lightning some time ago.” 

“ Oh ! It has been lightning for some time over 
the sea, and it is rapidly approaching us. ” 

“Do not go away, then.” 

A thunder-storm always makes me a little nerv- 
ous, even frightened, I admit ; and that is why I 
asked her to remain near me. As a rule she is not 
there when I take my bath, she only comes in 
when I step out of it. 

Obeying my order she remained, on this occas- 
sion, in the “temple,” but she placed herself dis- 
creetly behind me, at the end of the black marble 
shell, in which I lay extended. 


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MJ^LINITE. 


113 


The storm was raging in all its force when I 
passed into my dressing-room. Louise Banquet 
did not believe in deferring, for such a trifle, my 
daily massage. She appeared to me, on the con- 
trary, to be more active than ever, to give herself 
more work than usual. Her hands glided more 
rapidly from one part to another, her fingers at 
times actually seemed to clutch me. I thought 
the storm had agitated her, as it had myself, and 
made her a little nervous. We heard the thunder 
rumbling around us, then came a hollow sound, 
and a prolonged roaring, which lost itself in echoes ; 
at another moment, all at once, we heard a sharp, 
vibrating crash, which rent our ears, and made 
me start, while the hand of my masseuse stopped 
upon a certain place, and her fingers pressed into 
the flesh with such force that I felt her nails. It 
was massage no longer, it was killing, but when 
the nerves are over-excited a little pain sometimes 
does one good. 

If we heard the storm, we did not see it, thanks 
to her care in closing the Venetian shutters, and 
drawing the curtains. My eyes were not troubled, 
but my head felt heavy in the heat of my dressing- 
room, impregnated with perfumes and unstop- 
pered scent bottles, bouquets upon the mantel- 
piece, and upon a table near me, some fresh 


114 


M^ILINITE. 


flowers gathered in the park this morning. As if 
all these perfumes were not sufficient, I noticed 
another coming in strong little whiffs across me 
whenever her Angers stopped upon my neck, my 
shoulders or my arms. It was eau d^Espagne, 
that I was very fond of, and which she was in the 
habit of pouring into the hollow of her hand at 
the time of massage. She had, I believe, to-day, 
used it too freely. Notwithstanding that these 
surroundings rendered me languid, I remained 
awake whilst the storm lasted. Soon, however, it 
died away in the distance, and became lost in the 
rain. My nerves became calmer, and I fell grad- 
ually into a light slumber, while she continued 
massaging me with her hands, but more gently, 
with less force. Perhaps the rain had calmed her ; 
perhaps she wished to let me sleep while she con- 
tinued. I had been for some minutes in this state 
of half sleep, of torpor, and my eyes were closed. 

Suddenly I experienced a slight tickling sen- 
sation on the top of my thighs, such as is produced 
by contact with hair. At first I thought it was my 
own hair, which being loose and very long, had 
touched me ; but, almost immediately, I felt what 
appeared to be a hot breath and something moist 
lightly pressing upon me in the same place. 
Mechanically, I extended my arms. My hands 


MJ^LINITE. 


115 


encountered the head of Louise Bauquet. I pushed 
it quickly away, and sitting up, wrapped myself in 
my bathing-gown, and ran to open the curtains to 
push back the shutters. 

When I turned again she was seated upright, 
immovable, before the couch, and before I had 
time to speak, she said to me, in a confused 
manner : 

“ I beseech, madame, to pardon me. I was very 
tired. I finished by becoming sleepy, and my head 
fell upon the knees of madame the duchess. ” 

I looked at her for a moment, and said : 

‘‘Very good. You may go. I will dress my- 
self.” . 

I said these words in a tone which did not admit 
of any reply, and she obeyed, without hesitation. 

This is what has occurred. Notwithstanding 
my dislike to do so, I have written it here, as I 
have sworn to write everything, as I will write, in 
this diary, my refiections upon this incident. I 
shall be able in this way to do my duty, to take a 
reasonable view of it, and to be just, which I desire 
more than anything else. 


XVI. 

25th July, evening. 

I MUST first decide in my own mind, whether I 
can believe what she has told me. 

She pretends that she fell asleep, and why not ? 
Had she not the same reason as I had to fall 
asleep — the storm, the rain which succeeded it, 
the semi-darkness of my dressing-room, the per- 
fumes, and the fiowers ? . . . But then I had a 
long bath. How do I know that she did not take 
a^bath, before I awoke, in the sea or elsewhere ? 
. . . The massage ? Ah ! well, does not the 
operator feel the slightly magnetic effect of mas- 
sage in the same degree as the person operated 
upon. I think I have heard it said that it fatigues 
the operator more than the subject. Then it is 
admissible, even reasonable, to believe that she 
fell asleep. During the sleep her head had fallen 
between my thighs, so she says. Let me consider. 
She was kneeling upon a cushion lower than my 
couch, close to it, and placed about the middle. 
To save her the trouble of stretching out her arms 
I was myself lying extended upon my back at the 

n6 


MJ^LINITE. 


117 


edge of the couch, on the side nearest to her. In 
this position I can see very well that her head, in 
falling, would of necessity fall upon me above my 
knees. But I should have felt the blow, the 
shock. A head, no matter how small it is, weighs 
something, and when a weight falls upon one^s 
body one perceives it. However, I felt neither 
blow nor shock, but only, as I have said before, a 
moist, warm pressure. Does that prove anything ? 
I was sleeping, perhaps, more deeply than I imag- 
ined, and I awoke after her head fell upon me. 
Consequently I should only notice the tickling 
sensation of her hair upon my skin, and the 
warmth of her face. Again, how do I know that 
her head fell upon me all at once. Might it not, 
in her sleep, have inclined gradually to me, and 
finally rested upon me, in which case I should 
have felt the contact alone. 

All this is very possible. Then why should I 
not believe her ? Why should I make a crime out 
of a simple inability to resist sleep ? 

Without doubt. But something tells me that 
she told me an untruth. I will keep nothing back. 
Am I not alone face to face with myself ? Ought 
I to dissimulate, to hide one of my thoughts, one 
of my sensations, about that which I believe 
occurred ? Well, then, I thought I felt not only 


118 


m^:linite. 


the heat of her head leaning upon me, but the 
heat of her lips, and — I will say it, the bite of a 
kiss. 

She had dared to take advantage of my sleep to 
kiss me ! 

Let me be calm ! If I write all my reflections, 
one after the other, if I think, with my pen in 
my hand, it is in order to keep myself cool. 

I have admitted that her head might naturally 
have fallen upon me. In what position was she ? 
In front, with her full face upon me. It was her 
forehead, cheeks and mouth, then, that pressed 
upon me, and, if I felt the heat of her lips, would 
it not be very natural ? 

But the kiss ? It is possible for me to have only 
imagined it, the contact of her lips is hardly suf- 
ficient proof. And, if she slept herself, as I have 
just now suggested, has it never happened before 
that in one^s sleep and dreams that one gives 
an imaginary kiss ? It loses itself in vacuum, 
if there is a vacuum. It does not lose itself 
if some one or some thing encounters it upon 
its road. Before I can judge, however, in 
this matter, I must examine it from all sides, 
and having now looked at it from the sleep- 
ing point, and that of the involuntary kiss, I must 


MJ^LINITE. 


119 


now see what proof I have that she did it inten- 
tionally. 

Since Louise Banquet arrived here in the double 
capacity of maid and companion, how has she 
lived ? If I may so express myself. She has taken 
a part in both my physical and mental life. Of 
my physical existence I have allowed her, without 
dreaming of harm, without even thinking of it, 
the most complete knowledge. A painter would 
say that I had posed before her as a model, then is 
it not the fault of the model, of the model only, if 
she has been inspired with admiration for it. 
Mentally, in exchanging ideas with my companion, 
I have still posed before her, whilst showing her 
my mind and in giving her instruction. In some 
cases she has, no doubt, been dazzled by my gossip, 
and embarrassed by my teachings, and yet, she 
has admired me. 

Admitting, then, that she admires me. Well, 
is not a kiss one of the visible forms of ad- 
miration ? Is one not often tempted to embrace 
those that are beautiful, or those that have done a 
grand or noble action ? “ Ah ! he is a brave man ! 
I would like to embrace him if I could ! ” one cries. 
Bor myself, I have often said to a friend, or to 
some beautiful young girl : “My darling girl, you 
are too beautiful to-day, I must give you a kiss,” 


120 


MELINITE. 


and, she offered me her forehead, or her cheeks. 
Yes, but I have never tendered anything to Louise 
Banquet. I have never given. She has taken. 

Under what conditions has she taken ? During 
my sleep. Although this appeared to me at first 
an aggravating circumstance, it really becomes an 
extenuating one. She did not want to show me 
any disrespect, since she was in hopes I should not 
know of it. 

But, then, it was not my forehead, it was not 
my cheek that she kissed. Truly, I should not 
have given them to her ; she would not have dared 
to kiss them. But she slyly kissed that part of 
me which she was able to reach, that was near her 
mouth. It is thus that a slave kisses her mistress, 
and, I have said before, that she has made herself 
my slave. 

Shall I, then, deprive myself of her service, of 
her devotion, merely for one moment’s forgetful- 
ness, provoked by the enervating effects of the 
storm and the heat, by the intoxicating smell of 
perfume, even by myself, who have allowed her to 
admire me — I see it now — with too much license ? 

All these refiections are now written here, in my 
journal. I should be able to make an immediate 
decision, to ring for Louise Bauquet, and either 
say to her : “ Return to Paris, I will not keep 


MELINITE. 


121 


you ; ” or, “ I forgive you, this time, but for the 
future be more careful.” However, I shall not 
ring now. I will pass , to-day alone. I will read 
over my notes again to-morrow morning, when I 
am cool, and then I will decide. One thing I will 
decide now : I will give up the massage. It is too 
enervating, both for the operator and the subject. 
I will renounce also my Oriental life ; I will become 
again a woman of the West and North, in as much 
as at this moment I am a woman of Boulogne. 


XVII. 

26 th July. 

Havin^g decided to lead a more active life, I 
rose early this morning without any assistance. 
When Louise Bauquet came into my room, with 
its large windows overlooking the sea, I said to 
her, in my natural voice, without irritation, but 
without much softness : 

“ Prepare what I require, and leave it out in my 
dressing-room. I will dress myself.” 

I believe she was desirous of speaking to me. I 
turned my back upon her, and went out upon the 
balcony. She appeared uneasy, and no doubt 
wished to know what I thought to-day of the 
insult she had offered me yesterday ; what resolu- 
tion I had taken in the matter ; in short, whether 
I had resolved to pardon her or to treat her with 
rigor. But I will decide that after I have read 
again the few last pages of this journal, as I have 
promised myself, and have taken one of those long 
walks which refresh the mind and enable it to see 
more clearly. 

Although I had told her that I would dress 


Z23 


M^}LINITE. 


123 


myself, she was still in my dressing-room when I 
went in, moving about from one place to another, 
placing this thing here, and that there, unable, 
apparently, to leave the room ; unable to leave me 
without attending to me as usual. 

Without appearing to notice her presence I 
arranged the fresh flowers she had cut for me, in 
the vases on the mantel-piece ; hut, involuntarily, 
I glanced at her occasionally. She had evidently 
slept badly ; her slight flgure looked thinner than 
usual, her face very haggard. She had a disheart- 
ened, even suffering, appearance; her walk, so 
light, so lively, generally, was slow and straggling. 
The thought that she has displeased me, that I am 
going to dismiss her, is tormenting her almost to 
the point of making her ill. Is she truly attached 
to me ? It is scarcely probable. In six weeks one 
cannot form a very strong attachment. Love 
only, it is said, comes suddenly ; it is born very 
quickly in certain foolish hearts. But love does 
not exist between women, between a servant and 
her mistress. 

The flowers being arranged in the vases, I moved 
toward the toilet-table. Then, taking courage, in 
a low voice, she said to me : 

“ Will not madame the duchess allow me to do 
her hair ? ” 


124 


M^ILINITE. 


not to-day. You can retire.” 

She went out sadly, without a word, with the 
same slow step. I made my toilet rapidly, and 
in half an hour, seated by the window, I was read- 
ing again that which I had written yesterday. All 
my reflections appear to me just. I believe they 
are founded upon the truth. In fact, I have al- 
most decided. Even last night I thought of look- 
ing over the matter, of forgiving her. I am this 
morning of the same opinion; and do not think I 
shall say anything more to her about it. ... If I 
speak of it, I shall appear to attach importance to 
it, and then I must show myself severe. No, I 
will allow her to resume her service near me, but 
will modify it, simplify it. I will keep her, in a 
word, at a distance, and not allow her another op- 
portunity of letting her head fall upon me, when 
she goes to sleep, and give her less chance, when 
awake, of showing her admiration. 

Now, I will go out, in order to follow out my 
programme to the end, and take a long walk, and 
on my return, if my ideas are not modified, I will 
commence once more, review and correct my life. 


XVIIL 

26th July, evening. 

If I am able, this time, to fix my ideas, to 
reproduce exactly the conversations that I have 
just had, to recount the events that have taken 
place, I shall have given a great proof of my will, 
of my empire over myself. I wish to give myself 
that proof. 

Having passed through the park gates, in place 
of going into the country, I took the road to Bou- 
logne, where I had some purchases to make, some 
little things I had forgotten in Paris. It is a long 
road, and slightly fatiguing, but I thus replace 
the massage with the walk, which I have now 
every reason to believe is superior to it. Having 
arrived at the town, about ten o'clock, I crossed 
the iron bridge and Frederick Sauvage square, 
and I was upon the point of entering Faidherte 
street, when I perceived, at a window upon the first 
floor of the Hotel Christol, who ? Blazac ! 

As he had his glasses on, he saw me and recog- 
nized me. We exchanged looks of recognition. 


125 


126 


MP.LINITE. 


Then he left his window quickly, came down- 
stairs, and joined me. 

‘‘What ! are you here, cousin ?” 

“ There is nothing surprising in that, f live in 
the country. ... It is I, rather, that should be 
astonished at seeing you here.” 

“ Why ? did I not tell you that I intended to 
depart for the sea, or the waters, and I chose the 
sea.” 

“ And you have been at Boulogne since our last 
meeting. ” 

“Yes, at the Hotel Christol, as you see, the 
great house for the English aristocracy, two steps 
from the railway, if I wish to go back to Paris, and 
facing the packet boats, if I take a fancy to go to 
London. And from my window, cousin, at which 
you surprised me, what a lovely view ! The port, 
the sea, the winding river, and the green hills.” 

“ How poetical ! It is not natural in you. 
There is something behind all this. . . . And 
then, why do you vaunt the Hotel Christol to me, 
who resided in it with the duke, when our villa at 
the “Euins” was being repaired. . . . You know 
the “Ruins” there, facing you upon the hill.” 

“Yes, I know it.” 

“ And has the idea never come into your head to 
pay me a visit ? ” 


M^ILINITE. 


127 


“It was impossible, cousin. . . . I am not alone 
at Boulogne.” 

“Oh! Very good. I can now explain your 
poetical sentiments. Another love. Melinite 
always ? ” 

“ No ; Melinite no more, I have replaced her with 
Bellite.” 

“Bellite, Bellite ; I have heard this name.” 

“ It is the name of a new explosive ... a bru- 
nette that I followed to the Casino at Boulogne 
the night of my arrival.” 

“I know it ; I have played there.” 

“ And you have won ? ” 

“Once or twice.” 

“ Ah, well, my brunette did not win. She lost 
all her money, and she was in grief — in such grief. 
That touched me. I said to her : ^ Madamoiselle, 
I beseech you not to tear your hair. It is such a 
beautiful shade. Come and take a turn with me 
instead.^ A woman who has lost her last louis is 
generally willing to do that. We walked about 
for some time, and I perceived that this child, this 
interesting girl, was really very ladylike, and quite 
worthy of being launched.” 

“ Yet another I ” 

“ What would you have, cousin, I have only had 
two passions in my life — launching and chemistry. 


128 


MELINITE. 


... At first sight they do not resemble each 
other much ; but you understand me, cousin.” 

‘‘Perfectly, Melinite, Bellite.” 

“Exactly. . . . Well, the next day. she said to 
me : ‘ Boulogne pleases me very much. I could be 
content to finish the summer here with you.^ ” 

“ What, so soon ? ” 

“ Yes. So I told her I liked Boulogne also, and 
would take her to live with me. Then I rented 
rooms at the Hotel Christol, allowing myself to 
pass as a married man. ... It is necessary to 
respect the proprieties in hotels of the first class. 

. . . And I am here installed with Bellite. She 
still calls herself Rose Miron. But I proposed to 
her to change her name to Bellite. She replied : 
^ What does it matter to me ? ^ So that in Paris, 
for the launch, she will be called Bellite.” 

“ In giving her this surname you have, no doubt, 
your reasons ? ” 

“ My reasons ? Certainly. I will tell them to 
you, if you wish it.” 

“I wish it ; if you do not forget ...” 

“ Oh ! I will say nothing you will not care to 
listen to.” 

“ Speak, then. Only let us walk on a little ; 
you are keeping me here in the same place.” 


m^:linite. 


129 


“ It is yon, rather, who are keeping me. You 
tell me to speak.” 

“Because you amuse me. One has so few 
amusements at the sea-side.” 

I walked in the direction of the quay, following 
the channel along by the fishing-boats, and as 
Blazac walked by my side, he continued : 

“ I have given her this surname because she is 
an explosive the nature of which you can form no 
idea.” 

“It is plain I have not the least idea of it.” 

“ It is composed of nitrate of ammonia and of 
dinitro-benzine — a most formidable compound, 
destined to destroy all the others. When she is 
launched, one can wish for nothing better, not 
only in France, but everywhere. The Germans 
will try to take her from me. The English also. 
I have perceived it already at the Hotel Christol. 
She is of a yellowish color, the shade of an Indian 
or of a mulatto. She has taste, much taste. She 
is nearly dry to the touch.” 

“ Blazac ! ” 

“Well ! what is it, cousin ? It is not the first 
time that you have seen me mix up women and 
chemistry together ? Is it my fault if I confound 
the bellite invented by Mon. Carl Lamm with my 
Bellite, that I discovered myself ? She resembles 


130 


M^JLINITE. 


the other much ; in touch, in color, in her explos- 
ive powers ! 

“ What enthusiasm ! In you, who formerly only 
swore by Melinite.” 

“ I swear by her no more, since I found out she 
had deceived me.” 

“ Are you not accustomed to that ? ” 

“ It is not of that which I speak. She deceived 
me in the color of her hair, and I shall not forgive 
her ; I who gave her everything, who presented 
her to my friends as a brunette.” 

“ And is she not one ? ” I cried, astonished. 

“ She was never one, and I allowed myself to be 
deceived by her,. I, Blazac ! ... It is true that 
her wigs were very well made. She had them in 
every form, for all occasions, all circumstances ; a 
wig for the town, a wig for the country, one for 
the day, and one for the night. ... Oh ! her wig 
for the night was a dream ! I, who believed that 
she had Just curled, in my honor, her beautiful 
black hair, when she had merely changed her 
wig. . . . What a superb collection ! 

“ She showed them to you ? ” 

“ She kept them hidden from me, but I discov- 
ered them.” 

“When?” 

“ The day on which I saw you last, cousin. It 


MilLINITE. 


131 


is a date I shall not forget. On leaving the agency 
office, where I had gone to find her a maid, . . . 
you know, ... I returned to her house to give 
her an account of my mission. . . . She was not 
there. ... I searched for some paper to write 
her a note. There was neither paper nor pen in 
the salon. I went into her dressing-room. . . . 
Nothing there. ... I opened a wardrobe, a 
drawer, another wardrobe, another drawer, and I 
ended by finding, instead of ink and paper, the 
collection of wigs. ... At first I was astonished, 
angry, then ecstatic at the sight of these works of 
art. I was still admiring them when she entered, * 
and surprised me before the opened wardrobe. . . . 

“ ^ Miserable creature,^ I cried, ^ you are a false 
brunette 

“ ^ Most false, ^ she replied, with that presence of 
mind so remarkable in her. 

“ ^ Why have you deceived me 
“ ^ You love brunettes ; you swear by nothing 
else, and I wanted you to love me, my angel P 
“ ^ Oh ! between us, that kind of talk is useless. 
Find some other reason.^ 

“ ^ Very well, you were looking for a brunette to 
launch her. I made myself a brunette in order to 
be launched.^ ” 


132 


MJ^LINITE. 


I stopped upon the jetty that we had come to, 
and I said to Blazac : 

“If she is not a brunette, what is the exact 
shade of her hair ? ” 

“ Fair, very fair, not at all brown. ...” 

“ Oh ! this time I am quite sure of not being 
deceived. It was her own hair. For I pulled it, 
as I pull every evening at Bellite^s hair. I do not 
wish to be mocked at by a second explosive.” 

“And after you had discovered the truth,” 
asked I, interrupting him, “you left her without 
giving her an account of your mission ? ” 

“No ; she asked me about it; I replied angrily; 
but I did reply.” 

“You did not tell her, I suppose, that I was 
also seeking for a maid ; that you met me in front 
of the agency ? ” 

“I might have told her. Since that evening 
that she saw you at the Bois she was always speak- 
ing of you, and, naturally ...” 

I was seated upon the end of the jetty, on a 
circular bench, and questioned him again : 

“ It was on the evening of your discovery that 
you left for Boulogne ? ” 

“The next day.” 

“ For the only reason that your " Tendresse ^ was 
fair, instead of being dark ? ” 


Mi:LINITE. 


133 


“Not exactly. . . . To you, cousin, from whom 
I hide nothing, I will even admit that she pleased 
me with her natural hair. It rendered her unrec- 
ognizable, and made her an absolutely new woman. 
I, who love a change, rather liked it.” 

“ Then why did you leave ? ” 

“ It was no use my remaining. She had gone 
herself, before me.” 

“ Without saying where she was going ? ” 

“Without saying anything. She is the greatest 
deceiver I know.” 

“ And you have never tried to rejoin her ? You 
do not suspect any place where you might find 
her ? ” 

“ No ; a new caprice seized her, without doubt. 
A passion, perhaps ; she is quite capable of it. 
She will return when her passion is satisfied. If 
she cannot satisfy it she will never return.” 

“Why?” 

“ Because there will be an explosion. She will 
blow herself up, as I told you before, on the day 
when she cannot blow up the other. ” 

I allowed the boat from Folkestone to pass, that 
was whistling at the entrance to the port ; then, in 
an undifierent tone, as if Melinite had no more 
interest for me, I said : 


134 


MJ^LINITE. 


“Do you know, by chance, such a name as 
Madame de la Bere ? ” 

“ Perfectly. Is she here ? Then Melinite is not 
far off.” 

“ She knows her then ? ” 

“ She know her ! Well, very intimately. It was 
at the house of Madame de la Bere that I first met 
Louise Banquet. What is the matter, cousin ? ” 

“Nothing. The eddy of the steamboat made 
this wooden jetty shake, and I thought it was going 
to fall. . . . Who is this Louise Banquet of whom 
you speak to me now for the first time ? ” 

“ It is Melinite before the baptism, my baptism.” 

“ Oh ! indeed. Have you seen the husband of 
Madame de la Bere ? ” 

“She is not married.” 

“ She has some children, however ? ” 

“ Children, impossible ! I see, you are speaking 
of another Madame de la B^re. The name is com- 
mon enough. . . . The one I mean lives at No. 1 
Fran 9 ois street, second fioor.” 

“ It was at her house, you tell me, that you first 
saw Louise Banquet ? ” 

“Yes. She was her maid. She was hidden 
there. But I always finish by discovering every- 
thing, even wigs. I worked, as you already know, 
in order to gain a triumph for black hair. The 


MJ^LINITE. 


135 


maid was dark, peculiar also, very piquant, much 
more original than her mistress, and I carried her 
off, to the great despair of the other.” 

“ Why should it make her despair ? ” 

“ Oh ! for reasons that I am not able to tell you. 
Do not insist. I know how far I can go with a 
woman who is not a prude, like yourself, and also 
where to stop with an honest woman, also like your- 
self, cousin. Otherwise, Madame de la B^re was 
quickly consoled, for Louise Bauquet launched, 
thanks to me, rich, thanks to another, soon took 
it into her head to return to Francois street. No. 1, 
and to re-enter into the service of her blonde.” 

“ What ! notwithstanding the million, always a 
maid.” 

“ She has a great liking for the business. Be- 
sides, with Madame de la B^re, the maid is as 
much as the rnistress ; in fact, they take it by 
turns. Then it is an intermittent service. Louise 
Bauquet, when the fit seizes her, does not trouble 
herself, but takes off her apron and flies to another 
shore, as at this moment. Pardon me, cousin, do 
you ever eat luncheon ? ” 

“ Why do you ask ? ” 

“Because you do not seem to know it is one 
o'clock.” 

“ Already I ” 


136 


Mi:LINITE. 


Thanks. That proves that I have not wearied 
you. But Bellite, who was still asleep when you 
passed the hotel, will be awake now and waiting 
lunch f Qr me. ” 

“ Go quickly, then, and rejoin her. Shall I see 
you some day at the ^ Ruins ^ ? ” 

“I am afraid not. You understand, with ex 
plosives it is necessary to be prudent ; one must 
never leave them long alone. . . . Adieu, cousin.” 

As soon as he had gone, I hired a conveyance. 
I have now only one thought : to chase this 
wretch from my house as quickly as possible. 


XIX. 


How to discharge her ? Under what pretext ? 
The pretext that she gave me herself yesterday. 
I have not forgiven her yet. She saw that last 
night and this morning. Decidedly I will not 
forgive her, and will send her away. It is very 
simple. What necessity is there for me to tell her 
that I know who she is, to have explanations, dis- 
cussions, to commit myself with her ? Can I be 
answerable for myself ? Shall I not finish by cry- 
ing out : “You have killed my husband, infamous 
creature ? ” 

I do not wish her to know it. She must he kept 
in ignorance that the Baron de Virmeux was the 
Duke de X. . . . Both out of respect to himself 
and me, he had hidden his name, his true title, 
and I have no right to mention it. 

Oh ! my God, am I going to think and decide 
again in advance what I shall say, what I shall do ? 
Of what use were my resolutions of yesterday and 
to-day. I was going to pardon her, to keep her 
near me. A few minutes^ conversation with Blazac 
has destroyed all that, has enlightened me. By 
137 


138 


MELINITE. 


holding a conversation with her I might find out 
the true cause of the death of my husband. . . . 
If I lead her on to tell me how she made him love 
her . . . how it was he deceived me, and killed 
himself for her, ought I to hesitate ? No ; I do not 
think so. 

I am wrong to provoke her confidences ; to 
speak of him with her ; to suffer such a mouth 
to tell me the secret of the man I loved so much. 
I prefer to know nothing, nothing. 

Then if 1 have decided not to hear her, and if I 
fear to question her, if I doubt my own power, 
why need I see her ? why need I dismiss her my- 
self ? Is not my steward here, he can send her 
away for me. Shall I incommode myself for her ? 
No, certainly not. 

Yet, if she departs without having spoken to 
me, I shall never know why she entered my 
service, why she has made herself my servant, my 
slave. In that which Blazac told me there are 
some things I do not understand. ... I should 
like to understand them. 

Ah ! it is too strong for me. Come what may 
. . . I will call her. 

She came in, and immediately, without raising 


MJ^LINITE. 


139 


my eyes ... for I dread to look at her, I seem to 
fear her ... I said : 

“ I have reflected. I shall not keep you in my 
service. Make up your accounts and leave at 
once. ” 

She remained silent for a moment, then she said, 
in a Arm voice : 

“ Will madame permit me to ask the cause of this 
sudden dismissal ? ” 

“I will not permit it.” 

“ It is very hard . Madame the duchess is treating 
me as she might hesitate to treat a simple maid, 
and yet, she has been willing to elevate me to 
another office nearer to her. A sort of companion 
as I have been, is it not right that I should be told 
the cause of my discharge.” 

“ Very well, since you wish to know it, I discharge 
you because yesterday you forgot yourself, you 
showed yourself wanting in respect to me.” 

“ Quite unwillingly, and I am very sorry for it. 
Alas, as I have had the honor of telling madame, I 
could not help falling asleep. ” 

“I do not believe you were asleep.” 

“What does madame believe about it, then?” 

What could 1 reply ? Could I reproach her 
with kissing me. Discuss with her if she had or 
had not done so ? Ah I the thought that her lips 


140 


MJ^LINITE. 


have touched me is more odious still since I have 
learned who she is. I do not wish to admit even 
to myself a kiss from such a mouth, and I would 
not admit it to her. 

Then, seeing that she would insist upon know- 
ing the cause of her dismissal, and incapable of 
containing myself any longer, I decided to finish 
it, and raising my eyes and looking her full in the 
face, I said to her, without lowering my voice : 

“I dismiss you because you are not an honest 
girl. You were formerly called Melinite.” 

She turned pale, then recovering herself, she 
said : 

Who has said that ? ” 

‘‘One of my relations, M. de Blazac.” 

“ He knows I am here, then ? ” 

“No, happily.” 

“ How is it then, madame, that he spoke to you 
of a woman like myself ? ” 

“It pleased me to question him about this 
Melinite, with whom I had seen him speak, and 
I learned that her true name was Louise Bauquet.” 

“He told you also that Louise Bauquet was a 
lady’s maid ? ” 

“ Certainly.” 

“ Then what do you reproach me with, madame 
the duchess ? ” 


MELINITE. 


141 


“ What do I reproach you with ! Of having 
unworthily deceived me.” 

“ Deceived you ! I came to your house under the 
name of Louise Bauquet, which is my true name. 
You must admit it yourself, madame. I told you 
that I had served in several houses. Which is true. 
My references, and you know they are not false 
ones, establish the fact. I told you that I was 
in the service of Madame de la B^re. Which is 
also true.” 

“ You dare to speak to me of that woman ! ” 

“Why not?” 

“ You gave me her name as that of a married 
woman, a mother, a respectable person, and she is 
nothing of the kind.” 

“ Mon Dieu, madame, my references did not sat- 
isfy you. You required some verbal reference. I 
referred you to the person who knows me best, and 
told you of her respectability, in order that you 
should place more faith in what she told you.” 

“ More faith in her lies ! ” 

“ She believed every good thing that she said of 
me, even more, perhaps. She told you that I was 
an excellent maid. Madame the duchess has told 
me herself, since I have been here, that she never 
has been so well served before. I believe that 
Madame de la B^re even said that she regretted my 


142 


mjSltntte. 


leaving her ; in truth, she ought to regret my ab- 
sence. For the rest, I used a ruse, a subterfuge, 
which I may be pardoned. I used it for an hon- 
orable end.” 

“You !” 

“Without doubt. I wished to change my exist- 
ence, to work, to gain my living honestly, and 
from Melinite to become again Louise Banquet. ” 

“And you have chosen my house for this trans- 
formation ? What was your reason ? ” 

“M. de Blazac committed the indiscretion of 
telling me that his cousin, a great lady, a well- 
known duchess, wanted a maid. I immediately 
felt a great desire, great curiosity, to obtain the 
place, and I did what I thought best to secure it.” 

“Yes, you passed yourself off as an honest 
girl.” 

“ Honest as a servant, yes. I did not speak of 
anything else. Madame the duchess will recollect 
she did not question me upon my morality. She 
knows perfectly well what people say in such a 
case. Where is che maid who, wishing to obtain 
a place, would declare that her conduct left any- 
thing to be desired ? Generally, however, she has 
either a little or big flirtation with the steward or 
first coachman if she respects herself; with the 
footman if she is not so particular. But I have 


Ml^LTNITE. 


143 


none of these faults to reproach myself with. 
The men in the house, my colleagues, do not exist 
for me. I place my alfections higher. That 
should be placed to my credit. Is it not better to 
have been the favorite of M. de Blazac, madame^s 
cousin, than to have been the well-beloved of the 
steward ? I have also conducted my little affairs 
with a certain discretion. I did not choose to 
compromise M. de Blazac with his relations by 
avowing my connection with him. It has pleased 
him to speak of it. At the same time I do not 
repent my discretion. ” 

She said all these things, with her eyes low- 
ered, in a respectful attitude, in a soft voice, as if 
she had done nothing wrong. And, notwithstand- 
ing my disgust, I allowed her to continue, because 
I felt assured she would finish by approaching the 
subject which alone interested me, and which I 
had no longer the courage to keep her from. 
Obliged to be respectful, to keep herself in check 
since she had been with me, in consequence of her 
position, she felt a certain pleasure, involuntary 
perhaps, in showing herself less respectful, less re- 
served, in speaking, instead of listening. In tell- 
ing her thoughts, or, rather, a portion of them, 
Louise Banquet gradually disappeared, and Meli- 
nite, the courtesan, with her effrontery, her audac- 


144 


M^ILINITE. 


ity and her cynicism, came into sight. She 
resembled the actress who, after playing the role 
of innocence, quits thp stage, throws off her white 
robe, puts on her rouge, and assumes with joy her 
ordinary life, which, often, has nothing innocent 
in it. 

In order to arrive at my design, to push my ad- 
vantage, I said to her, in reply to her last speech : 

“ It is true that I did not question your morality, 
I gave you that much credit. But you did not, 
on that account, deceive me less, respecting your 
true position, your name, and qualities. You gave 
me to understand that you were in service as a 
maid, while you had not been one for a long time.” 

“ Have I not the right to resume my old busi- 
ness, and ought I to be reproached for doing so ? 
It happens that a lady^s maid becomes a loose 
woman in order to make money. In my case, I, a 
courtesan, become again a maid, to make less 
money, but to earn it honestly. Is it not more 
moral ? ” 

I raised my head and ventured to say to her : 

“You have no necessity to make money. You 
are rich.” 

“ Ah ! Blazac has told you that also ? ” 

“Yes, he told me that the Baron de Vermeux 
gave you a million francs.” 








MltLINITE. 


145 


“ He told you the truth. But as I have not 
spent the money, as I have not touched it, as, per- 
liaps, I shall never use it, it is the same as if I had 
never received it.” 

“ Perhaps you fear it may burn your fingers ? ” 

“ Not at all. A million never burns the fingers 
of its owner ; it tickles them agreeably, it caresses 
them. And, for that matter, I did not obtain it 
in the way that is commonly imagined. Ah ! if I 
might only tell the tale. ... It is as amusing, 
and is not more immoral than a romance, the last 
one, for instance, that I had the honor to read to 
madame the duchess.” 

“ Well, relate it, then. Do not incommode your- 
self. I have already listened to you for one hour. 
But I want no more tokens of respect from you. 
No more of madame the duchess. I can dispense 
with it from you. You are no longer in my serv- 
ice. Your name is no longer Louise Bauquet, the 
maid. Your name is Melinite, a courtesan. Let 
it be so. . . . At least, it will instruct me. I shall 
have read one more bad book, but a true book, a 
living book. I shall have satisfied this unhealthy 
curiosity, which, to our shame, sometimes torments 
women like myself. . . . I will listen to you.” 

This disdain, this hardness, had no power to 
stop her, to make her renounce the permission I 
10 


146 


M^JLINITE. 


had given her. My instinct told me that a creat- 
ure such as this, a courtesan, a loose woman, 
would experience a savage joy in unveiling, in 
showing herself in her true colors to an honest 
woman. 

“This is what I am. I know you well. I 
can surpass you. . . . This is what I can do ; this 
is the way in which I understand the matter. 
Women like yourself understand nothing. Even 
the men leave your side to run to us, and give 
themselves to us body and soul.” 

What men do matters little to me. But I want 
to know what this woman did to one of them — to 
my husband ; how it was that he shot himself for 
her sake, . . . and at last I am about to learn. 


XX. 

I AM going to try to recall, not only the mean- 
ing of her words, but the words themselves in all 
their nakedness. With her tact, her habitual in- 
genuity, she could have made me understand the 
most difficult things without using coarse language. 
But abusing, on the contrary, the liberty I had 
given her, it pleased her to wound my ears, to 
make me blush. She hoped, perhaps, by speak- 
ing to me in her own language to raise herself to 
my level, or to lower me to her own. She was 
mistaken. It would certainly have lowered me if 
I had taken any pleasure in hearing her, but I 
endured so much during her recital that I deserve 
forgiveness for having listened to her until the 
end. 

“It was owing to Blazac,” she commenced, 
“ that I did not remain a lady^s maid all my life. 
It is a good position, when one is with a young 
and beautiful mistress. Pretty women are easier 
to live with than ugly or clever women. I have 
always tried to improve myself, to talk as they 


147 


148 


Ml^LINITE. 


talk, and to carry myself as they do, in short, to 
get as much instruction from them as possible/^ 

“It has not been very diflScult for you to do 
this,” I observed. 

“I have always found that,” she replied; “and 
when my mistresses have had nothing more to 
teach me, I have left them ; but they have always 
been so satisfied with my services, that I have 
received good testimonials. I believe I have left 
pleasant memories in every house I have lived in.” 

“ They are numerous ? ” 

“ At least twenty : theatrical women, both stars 
and otherwise ; people of little distinction and 
people of great distinction ; citizens' wives, both 
with and without lovers; women of the world 
of every description. I have known them all. 
There was only a great lady wanting. That is 
why I entered the service of madame the duchess.” 

“You can leave, then, without much regret. I 
have completed your collection.” 

“ Oh ! my regret will be very great. I have only 
passed a month here, and I have not had time to 
make myself appreciated as I deserve. I still 
hope that madame ...” 

“I shall be obliged,” I said, interrupting her, “if 
you will proceed more quickly, and come to the 


MilLINITE. 


149 


time when you changed your profession. That of 
a maid interests me but little.” 

“I will tell you, then,” she said, without show- 
ing any emotion, without appearing hurt at my 
words. “ It happened in this way : Blazac, who was 
paying his attentions to Madame de la B^re . . . 
and with very little success, for I was there to 
defend her, and when I am near lovers find them- 
selves out in their calculations . . . Blazac, I 
say, was seeking a brunette, to launch her, carrying 
out his harmless mania for launching girls. He 
believed me to be a brunette ; I was at that time, 
in order to contrast better with my fair mistress, 
who loved a contrast. He offered to give me a 
modest establishment, whilst awaiting the high 
destiny which, he said, was certainly reserved for 
me. I hesitated. 1 had never had a lover, and 
for the first I should have preferred a man of a 
different appearance. I said to him : ^ My little 
man, you are not the one that can make me alter 
the bad opinion I have of your sex.^ Yes, it is true ; 
instinctively I had a horror of men, before knowing 
them. This has not changed since I have known 
them.” 

She stopped to take breath, for she had been 
speaking quickly the last few moments. It was 
thus that she conformed to my recommendation — 


150 


MJ^LINITE. 


the same lengthy details, with a more rapid utter- 
ance. 

“However,” she continued, “the modest estab- 
lishment — above all, the high destiny — which 
Blazac promised ended by tempting me. I fol- 
lowed his advice. . . . Ah ! I was not mistaken. 
He could not overcome my instinctive repugnance 
and the ideas which had been implanted in me by 
most of my mistresses — women of experience, 
who spoke from their knowledge acquired in a 
number of comparative studies.” 

She looked at me to judge, no doubt, of the 
effect produced upon me by this foolish and 
affected phrase. I did not appear to notice it, 
however, and she continued : 

“ Blazac is a good boy, clever and amusing. He 
is never troublesome or jealous, although he has a 
right to be, for he treats his women well. But 
what a lover ! Such softness, such caresses, such 
silliness, but nothing serious. He could not warm 
me, I remained like ice, yet he baptized me with 
the name of Melinite. Why ? He explained the 
reason to me one day in a moment of confidence, 
of truthfulness. ' I had several motives,"' he said, 
^in calling you by this name. You are not 
inflammable with me, it is true, but that does not 
prove that you will never burn up, and explode 


MilLINITE. 


151 


with others. Like the true meliuite, it is neces- 
sary for you to be under certain conditions before 
igniting, and at some time you will find yourself 
under those conditions, you may be certain. My 
second motive was a personal one : in making you 
known as an explosive, I gave, at the same time, a 
high idea of my resisting strength. People will 
say : What a wonderful organization has Blazac ! 
He must have nerves of iron, a frame of steel, to 
be safe with such a woman. This surname will 
also assist your launch. Men are very fond of 
women that are reputed to be infiammable. They 
take for passion that which is only natural tem- 
perament. They believe they are loved for them- 
selves, when they are only loved, in a general way, 
for their sex and their virility.^ 

“ Such were the little lectures your cousin read me. 
They were not badly reasoned. At the end of six 
weeks I found myself launched, and well launched, 
before all Paris. Then Blazac gave me this last 
counsel : 

“ Do not have any lovers unless they are of dis- 
tinction and wealth, always try to make them pay 
a great price. If you occasionally have a caprice 
for a poor man, love him freely for nothing, work 
for glory. Your motto should be “much or 


152 


MELINITE. 


nothing.” As I am not much, I shall bid you 
good-by.^ 

“^You forget,^ I said, ^the other part of the 
device — nothing.' 

“ ^ Thank you, but you are not rich enough yet to 
show your gratitude. You would be wasting time 
that you can employ better. I shall return in a 
year's time.' 

“ He departed, and I am waiting a year before 
seeing him again. ” 

I felt, now, that she was touching upon a chapter 
in her life that was of personal interest to me. 
Therefore I listened with patience, with coolness, 
without protest, to this wordy cynic. Emboldened 
by the attention with which I appeared to listen to 
her, or fatigued, perhaps, she half-seated herself 
upon the arm of a large chair, I suppose because 
she did not dare to seat herself entirely, from some 
slight remaining sense of decency. 

“Notwithstanding the absence of Blazac,” she 
continued, “ this year has passed very quickly. I 
have been so much occupied, so run after, my 
house always full, from one day to another, although 
I had taken a much larger one. But it is indis- 
pensable in our days to keep up a great appearance 
if one wishes to remain in the first flight. How- 
ever, notwithstanding the number and the choice 


M^JLINITE. 


153 


that I have had, I have not changed my opinion of 
the men. Not one of them has inspired me with 
passion. How selfish they are in their love — all 
for them, nothing for ns — how badly they under- 
stand us. They do not know, or they pretend not to, 
that, as a rule their thirst is satisfied, appeased, 
when ours just commences to make itself felt. 
They empty the cup at a draught, while we have 
only wet our lips. If, in desperation, as a last hope, 
we murmur : ‘ That which you have drank appears 
very good, we should like to taste it in our turn,^ 
they reply : ‘We are sorry, there is no more,^ and 
we have to remain thirsty. 

She made use of some expressions now, and con- 
ducted herself in such a way that I said to her : 

“ Go on with your story, and make haste ! 
What do I care for your thirst, your cup, and your 
lips ! ” 

Alas, it was not nearly finished ; I had to listen 
to a great deal more yet. 

She commenced walking about the room, and 
continued : 

“ Let us say, however, that some women empty 
the cup of pleasure at the same time as their lover 
or husband. That is simply a question of good or 
bad luck. I compare love to a roulette table, 
thirty-six numbers and a naught. A player throws 


154 


3f^LINTTE. 


her money upon a number; it wins and she is 
happy. Another places her money upon many 
numbers and loses. Is it not bad luck ? Ah ! 
well, that is exactly what has happened to me. I 
can never find a winning number, a man that I 
can love. ” 

My patience was now exhausted, and I could 
not help saying to her : 

“ Excuse me, you told me your life was as amus- 
ing as a romance, and I gave you permission to 
relate it to me. But a romance has an end. The 
author has no right to put his facts on one side in 
order to enter into a dissertation that has no end. 
I must ask you to say no more or keep to the facts 
of your story.” 

“I will keep to them, madame,” she replied. 
“ I have now come to the million that the Baron de 
Vermeux gave me.” 


XXI. 

She stood upright now, facing my easy-chair, 
her back leaning against the mantelpiece, while I, 
to conceal my agitation, took up my fancy work 
and commenced to work upon it. 

“ It was from the proscenium on the ground floor 
of the little Novelties Theatre, that I first saw the 
Baron de Virmeux. He was with the Marquis de 
B., who had been presented to me some days before, 
at a house-warming given by one of my friends. 
I was by myself, facing these gentlemen. Madame 
de la Bere should have accompanied me, but she 
was not feeling well, and I did not mind going to 
the theatre alone, as I felt certain that I should 
find some one I knew there. I was mistaken ; 
there was no one in the stalls, no one in the boxes, 
except the marquis, and he did not seem disposed 
to recognize me. I had a great desire, however, 
that he should ; not for himself, though he was 
very nice, but on account of his friend, whom I 
liked much better, at first sight.” 

She approached nearer to me, and said to me, 
more familiarly than she had yet dared to : 
rss 


156 


m:^linite. 


“Imagine to yourself, duchess, a man from 
thirty-two to thirty-five years of age, tall and 
slender, and of a very distinguished appearance ; 
a lofty forehead, with very soft, intelligent eyes ; 
a straight nose, slightly arched, an aristocratic 
nose ; a rather disdainful, well-cut mouth, framed 
with a thick, fair mustache, and with a beautiful 
pointed beard. That which struck me most of 
all was his grand air, his fine figure, with a pe- 
culiar, original, perhaps I might call it untamed, 
appearance about him. He was ^evidently a man 
of the world, but of a world very superior to any 
that I was acquainted with. In this novel admira- 
tion, then ... for it was the first time in my life 
that I had been enamored of a man’s face ; I have 
always found them ugly in my eyes, and not to my 
taste ... in my new admiration, then, I said to 
myself : ^ It is a foreign prince, a grand duke, or 

perhaps a sovereign from the North, traveling 
incognito, and the Marquis de B. is showing him 
Paris. I should like to show him my part of it. 
I would receive him with all the honors due to 
him.’ But the curtain fell, and neither the mar- 
quis, the prince, grand duke or sovereign even 
glanced at me. They remained seated in their 
box, without appearing even to notice that my 
opera-glass was continually leveled at them. 


3IJSLINITE. 


157 


‘‘This complete indifference annoyed me. I 
had not been accustomed to it since Blazac had 
launched me. I am not beautiful, and I know it. 
However, as a rule, I produce a strong impression 
upon men. AYhy ? I do not know. I merely 
state the fact. My lively air, my dilated and 
quivering nostrils, my mouth, generally half open, 
seems to promise a good deal they say. I have 
also, it appears, something magnetic, something 
hypnotic in my eyes ; my look attracts the looks 
of others. As on this occasion it had absolutely 
no effect, I said to myself: ‘I must do some- 
thing, I must use all my power, must make a 
great effort.'’ 

“ This great effort consisted in making the visit 
they would not make, in passing from my box to 
theirs, and meeting them face to face. A little 
diplomacy enabled me to do this, and I have no 
lack of it. I left my box. I crossed the corridor. 
I arrived before the door of the two recluses. I 
opened it and walked in, as if I had been ex- 
pected. They could not avoid showing their 
astonishment. I think I remarked that they even 
frowned. However, as they were thorough gentle- 
men, they rose and bowed. 

“ ‘ I must ask you to pardon my indiscretion,^ I 
said, ‘ but I was alone over there and you are alone 


158 


MJ^LINITE. 


here. We are in a little theatre, upon neutral 
ground, as it were, where certain liberties may be 
excused, and I think, marquis, that you owe me a 
forfeit.^ 

“ ^ It is true,^ he cried, ^ the other evening, at the 
party, I made a wager with you that I have lost. 
Pardon my forgetfulness.'’ 

“ ^ Are you disposed to pay it to-day ? ^ 

“ ^ Certainly.’ 

“ ^ Ah, then, with your permission, introduce me 
to your friend,’ . . . and I designated his com- 
panion. 

“ He took me by the hand very gallantl)^ and, 
with a smile, he said, ^ Allow me to introduce Mad- 
emoiselle Melinite.’ This did not suffice me. ^ And 
will you not introduce the gentleman also ? ’ I 
asked. After a moment’s hesitation he exchanged 
a look with . . . the other, and finished by say- 
ing, ' My friend, the Baron de Virmeux.’ What, he 
was only a baron, and I had taken him for . . . 

“I have never been able to find out if I was 
deceived. In any case, if he had another name, 
another title, he hid it very adroitly. I might, 
perhaps, have found out the truth, by taking the 
trouble. But I am not curious in such a useless, 
little, common fashion. I might have had him fol- 
lowed, but I think it a low thing to do. I knew 


m^:linite. 


159 


no one to ask about him. He never met either a 
man or woman at my house. He took his pre- 
cautions, and I took mine, in order to please him. 
AYe always met at a quiet time, in the early even- 
ing, when my quarter is deserted. Ah, if I had 
met him in the street, in the Bois, or at the thea- 
tre, or when Blazac, who knows all Paris, had 
been at my side, I should soon have known who 
he was. But he avoided meeting me, and as to 
Blazac, I saw him no more.” 

She perceived that I was listening attentively 
to what she said, and her desire to shine before me 
was doubtless increased. She need not have given 
herself any trouble, every word that she spoke 
now, went straight to my heart. 

“The curtain rose during my presentation,” 
she continued, “ and I remained seated in the back 
of the box. 

“ But I was desirous to repay the hospitality, 
slightly forced, no doubt, of these gentlemen, and 
to please them with my conversation, for the 
obscurity prevented my seducing them in any 
other way, and I soon perceived that I was produc- 
ing some slight elfect upon the Baron de Virmeux, 
he seem pleased to listen to me, appearing sur- 
prised to hear me speak so well. I concluded that 
I was not mistaken in judging him to know very 


160 


m^:linite. 


little of my world. He could not imagine that a 
Melinite would be able to show any mind, and to 
converse, when she chose, in much the same way as 
a baroness. He had, no doubt, until then, mixed, 
confounded, placed in the same class, all those 
women who sell their charms, from the street- 
walker, open to all at a fixed or reduced price, to 
the swell women of the highest notoriety. He was 
ignorant of the fact that when well launched and 
living in a certain style we only go with the very 
best class of foreigners or Parisians. Our asso- 
ciates supply us with all we require from the com- 
mencement of our career. From a moral stand- 
point we are all worth the same, I admit. But 
from any other view there is not the slightest 
resemblance between us. We are certainly col- 
leagues, but in different degrees. Is it only a 
question of money.? Not so. If that was all, men 
would indeed be foolish to give, for the same thing, 
to this one a louis . . . and I exaggerate in saying 
so . . . and to that one an establishment. The 
baron had never refiected in this manner, without 
doubt, from his astonishment in finding some mind, 
some good manners, in Mademoiselle Melinite. 
I had taken it into my head to make them escort 
me to my house, and with them it was not an easy 
thing to do. After some slight hesitation, however, 


MJ^LINITE. 


161 


they decided to accompany me. They called a 
carriage, and we entered it, after they had care- 
fully looked around them. This informed me that 
the baron was married, and was afraid of being 
seen ; the marquis, who I knew to be a wild boy, 
had no occasion to act in this way. This little 
discovery did not displease me ; I like these 
obstacles, this resistance, for the pleasure of over- 
coming them. 

“ On our way from the Boulevard des Italiens 
to the Arc de Triomphe, near which I live, I 
endeavored to persuade them to take a little re- 
freshment at my house. It is beautifully appointed, 
and I wanted to show it to the baron. They ended 
by accepting my invitation. I noticed, with great 
pleasure, that the baron yielded first. Certainly 
it is true that while seated near to him in the 
carriage I kept his hand in mine, and pressed 
against him with my knees, but very slightly, very 
innocently, as if by accident. 

“We arrived. A domestic and my maid attended 
at the door. ... Oh ! my house is very well 
appointed. ... I gave my orders ; then I did the 
honors of my house, which was suddenly lit up 
with the electric light, to my guests. I read in 
the baron^s eyes, for he was too well bred to mention 
it, that his astonishment was still increased. No, 


II 


162 


m^:linite. 


he could not imagine that a loose woman, . . . for 
that is doubtless the name that he would give me, 
. . . should live in this style, without false luxury, 
without too much show, in the midst of beautiful 
furniture and works of art. I could see at a glance 
that I was growing in importance in his eyes. I 
grew still more when we passed into the dining- 
room, furnished in old oak, where a cold supper 
was served. That is what I understand by a little 
refreshment at midnight. 

“ How if they should refuse to sit down ? The 
marquis, always stubborn, thought of doing so, 
perhaps. But the baron, after having carefully 
looked at the time to know if he could, under 
pretense of being at the club, spare a few more 
minutes, took his place at my side. I rewarded 
him by my excessive amiability. He pleased me 
more and more, and I finished by getting excited, 
as it is called. He was excited also. It was very 
natural on his part ; when an habitually wise man 
commits a folly, he does not do it by halves. Mar- 
ried men, when they are out, enjoy themselves 
more than bachelors. If one can amuse oneself at 
any time, it ceases to be an amusement. ” 

Ah ! the wretch, the hussy ! Iso one knows the 
horrible torture I endured. To think that my 


MilLINITE. 


163 


husband should have fallen in love with such a 
vile creature ! 

“After supper,” she continued, gayly, “we re- 
turned into the salon. I employed all my charms. 
I know all the new songs, and I do not sing them 
badly. I detail them with much art. I accom- 
pany them with expressive looks and eloquent 
gestures. . . . Paulus has heard me and affirms 
that I could make my fortune in the concert halls. 
. . . However, I have no need of that, thanks to 
the baron. In short, when these gentlemen left, 
about three in the morning, they were quite 
infatuated with me — the baron even more so than 
the marquis. 

“ Before he left, the baron had promised to visit 
me, but the next day I waited uselessly for him. 

“ The day after, I waited again, with the same 
result. I commenced to grow impatient, I was 
more completely taken with him than I thought, 
and if he did not return he would escape me, — 
he, the only one who could make me change my 
opinion of the men, teach me to repent having dis- 
dained them until now. 

“ Eight days elapsed. At last I received a heavy 
letter. It contained ten notes of one thousand 
francs each, and the following words, which I shall 
never forget : 


164 


m:^linite. 


“ ^ The Baron de Virmeux requests Mademoiselle 
Melinite to receive him to-day, from four to six 
o^clock, and to accept the inclosed amount as a 
slight indemnity for the time that she will lose 
with him/ ” 


XXII. 

J UDGiifG from her emotion, from her heightened 
color, when she told me the contents of this letter, 
one might have thought she had just received and 
read it. And the most curious part of it was that 
she expected me to take her part, to feel the 
imagined indignity as much as herself. 

Seated facing me, with her arms extended, and 
her hands leaning upon the little table which sep- 
arated us, she said to me, in a short, quick voice : 

“I will make you the judge, madame. Was not 
the letter from the Baron de Virmeux most abom- 
inable ? Had he the right to insult me in this 
manner, to treat me as a child ; I who had just 
given him my best at my own house, honestly, yes, 
honestly ? Should he not have judged me 
from what I had said, from what I done, 
from that which I had shown him. If I 
had received him in one of those little 
rooms, where, at the first glance at the place 
and its appointments, one can class the person who 
lives there, he could not have treated me worse. 
But I had opened to him my house, the house of a 

165 


166 


MfAJNITE. 


woman of the world, and not of a common prosti- 
tute. Was it my conduct, my language, that 
showed my true position ? No, certainly not. I had 
been amiable, too amiable, coquettish even. But 
if every coquettish woman is to be thought badly 
of, badly classed, I believe it would not be very 
difficult to count the remainder. Then, if appear- 
ances were not against me, if nothing in my con- 
duct with him accused me, why did he send me 
money ? Had I asked him for it ? And this 
appointment, the object of which he clearly defines. 
Oh ! there is no doubt on that point, it is plain. 
He mentions his hour, in broad daylight, before 
dinner. He thinks that all hours are the same to 
me ; that I work at all hours of the day or night. 
^ You will receive me from four to six. Two hours 
are enough with you. Be quite ready to love me. 
I pay you in advance, and I pay you royally, in 
order to be quickly served and not to be kept 
waiting. I am in a hurry. . . . ^ ^ Well, sir, I 

am not in a hurry. Your majesty shall know it 
well. I do not wait. I will teach him. He shall 
wait for me, and that forever.'’ 

“ And this was the first man who had pleased 
me — whom I desired. Yes, I thought at last, that 
I had won the first prize at roulette, in this lottery 
of love, of which I spoke just now. Perhaps I 


MELINITE. 


167 


was mistaken, it might only have been the second 
or third prize. But I should have thought it the 
first, because one regards the man one loves in a 
light which exaggerates his worth, and can trans- 
form a dwarf into a giant, a Pygmy into Hercules* 
Yes, I should have taken him for a god, and he 
would perhaps have made me forget the goddesses 
to whom I have sacrificed until to-day. But now 
I will not change my worship, I will burn the 
same incense before the same idols, since the god 
whom I wished to serve insulted me, even before I 
knelt before him. 

“ Ah ! what a service he has rendered me in 
treating me thus. What new strength I shall 
acquire. I have always feared to yield to the 
temptation of loving a man, of suffering for him. 
I fear no longer since I have resisted the seductions 
of that one, the only one, who might have seduced 
me. I know myself. My wounded pride, my 
first love insulted, will never pardon him, whatever 
may be my desires. It was he who could not 
resist me. No one can resist Melinite. She does 
her work surely. 

“ And my interests, that I was forgetting ? 

“ I am only a girl. Well, in our days, girls some- 
times think of the future, prepare for their old 
age, or, without looking so far ahead, amass as 


168 


Mi:LINITE. 


much money and in as short a time as possible, in 
order that they may live as they choose without the 
assistance of man. If I had been amorous with the 
baron, as I started to be, he would only have given 
me ten thousand francs and would have left me, 
saying: ^ I wished to know one of these creatures. 
Now I know them. I have seen enough. I shall 
return no more.^ Ah ! Well, he did return, and 
often. I weighed the matter carefully. A man 
who, after resisting his caprice eight days, gives 
ten thousand francs to satisfy it, will give a hun- 
dred times as much if he cannot satisfy it, if I 
sharpen it, if I transform it into a passion, and, 
feeling certain that I was not mistaken, without 
hesitation, I wrote the following lines : 

“ ^ Mademoiselle Melinite is at the orders of the 
Baron de Virmeux to-day, at the appointed time. 
But he does not know her motto : “ Much or noth- 
ing.” He can take his choice.^ 

“ I put this letter into a fresh envelope. I in- 
closed the ten thousand francs, and I ordered my 
maid to give it to the baron when he presented 
himself at four o^clock. Then -I waited, with firm- 
ness. With him I ran no risk. On receiving this 
letter a true Parisian would have placed^ the ten 
thousand francs in his pocket, would have com^e in, 
spent two hours with me, and have sent me in the 


MJ^LINITE, 


169 


evening a bouquet with these words : ^ Thanks ; I 
have chosen/ But the baron is a man of a more 
determined stamp. The ten thousand francs will 
increase. At a quarter past four my maid came to 
me and said : 

“ ^ The baron has been here, madame.^ 

^ You gave him my letter ? ^ 

“ ^ Yes, and he went out immediately.^ 

“ ‘ Was there any reply ? 

“ ^ He asked me to request madame to wait a 
little. He would return in a moment.^ 

‘‘ I had triumphed. Decided to satisfy his fancy, • 
cost what it might, to end the matter, and not 
having a large amount upon him, he had gone to 
procure it. 

‘‘•As a fact, twenty minutes had not past when 
he again presented himself. He was introduced 
into my boudoir, where I was awaiting him in a 
toilet put on for the occasion. He advanced a lit- 
tle awkwardly. Then placing a roll of paper upon 
the mantlepiece : 

“ ‘ Here,^ said he, ‘ are fifty thousand francs in 
bonds, payable to bearer, which you can easily 
exchange for bank notes. I had not enough 
money at my house, and I feared I might keep 
you waiting.^ 

“‘Very well, baron," I replied, smiling, whilst. 


170 


m^:linite. 


with my eyes, I signed to him to take a place at 
my side.” 

She stopped and walked over to one of the win- 
dows opening upon the park, drawing her breath 
for one or two minutes . . . she had need to . . . 
and returning near me, for I had remained 
immovable, silent, she said to me : 

“I shall not attempt, madame, to make you 
acquainted with all the phases of my liason with 
the Baron de Virmeux. It would be too long, 
too delicate, perhaps, to detail. I believe I have 
already indicated to you the plan that I followed : 
to caress, to flatter the mania of the baron, and 
not to yield to him ; to change this mania into a 
flxed desire ; to lead him on, little by little, until 
he was nearly out of his senses when near me, 
while I kept my own. In short, to whet, to in- 
crease his desire without satisfying him. But 
always letting him fondle me ; in fact, letting him 
travel half the road, in the hope of soon reaching 
the other half — of reaching his aim. Every time 
he met me he brought more bills, more bonds. I 
had told him graciously, once for all, not to take 
the trouble of turning them into money. . . . 

“ ^ Bank notes,^ I said, ^ are too easily disposed 
of. I prefer the bonds that I can keep in memory 
of you.'’ It is necessary with men to show a little 


MELINITE. 


171 


sentiment. They like it, and it assists to attach 
them to yon. 

“ I do not believe, however, that the baron ever 
had any attachment for me. I understood, al- 
though he never told me so, that he had in his 
heart a profound affection, a serious love. Then 
why did he seek after me ? It is very simple. The 
curiosity of a man who has not lived much — of an 
innocent — as I have judged him, notwithstanding 
his high intelligence. I was made of another sub- 
stance, of different flesh, than the women of his 
world, than his wife, do doubt. 

“He believed that the priestesses of love had 
something practical to show him that he could 
not learn at home. The very wisest men are lia- 
ble, at some moment in their lives, to a foolish flt. 
But the fit in his case had failed. Then his self 
love came in, his anger followed, together with an 
invincible desire to triumph — not to allow a girl 
like myself to play with a man like him. Perhaps, 
also, why not ? the desire of getting some return 
for his money, not for the sake of the money, he 
was too great a gentleman, but the vexation of 
telling himself he had given it for nothing, and 
with the infatuation of a gambler, who risks a mill- 
ion in order to gain ten thousand francs. This is 
what, I believe, passed through his mind, and 


172 


M^ILINITE. 


nothing else. No, he never loved me ! He was 
simply curious, desirous of me. He was infatu- 
ated, infatuated to the last degree. If I had said 
to him : ^You shall have me, at last, you shall 
have me ! ^ he would have consented to anything. 
I could have done with him what I pleased. Ah ! 
I had no necessity to promise him anything. The 
fear of seeing my door closed against him, of being 
obliged to leave humiliated and inflamed, without 
attaining his desire, made him humble and sub- 
missive. I, the maid, I made this grand gentle- 
man serve me, whom I had taken for a king, and 
who, perhaps, is a prince. I mocked this man of 
mind. I believe that I dared one day to insult 
him, to strike him. He came back the next day, 
only he brought me the remainder of the million, 
one hundred thousand francs, in various bonds. 
^ It is flnished,^ he said to me ; ^ I cannot, must not 
go beyond this.' He had fought the last fight, 
and had been beaten as usual. Then he went out, 
and has never returned. 

“ I have often asked myself since if he may not 
have killed himself. Nothing is impossible. One 
man has already killed himself for me. I am not 
called Melinite for nothing. But when I last met 
the Marquis de B. I asked him : 

“ " What has become of the Baron de Virmeux ?' 


MP.LINITE. 


173 


“ He answered : ‘ He lives no more in Paris. 

He has returned home.^ 

“ ^ Is it far ? ^ 

“ ^ Oh ! very far ! ^ And he turned his back on 
me. He knew, no doubt, that T had received a 
million from his friend, and perhaps ruined him. 

“That, madame, is the history of my liaison 
with the Baron de Virmeux. My fortune was 
made. I have lived since as it suited my fancy, 
following my own desires.” 

At these last words I rose and left the salon to 
escape this miserable creature, from whom I had 
no more to learn. 


XXIII. 

What has been her hope then, in relating this 
sad history to me ? That I should admire her 
frankness, her cynicism, and that I should keep 
her near me ? That, having become her confi- 
dante, I should not dare to send her away ? She is 
very much mistaken ! I would dismiss her, even 
if the Baron de Virmeux had been nothing to 
me. 

But his name was the Duke de X., he was my 
husband. Ought it to suffice me then, to content 
myself with merely sending away the woman who 
killed him ? 

For I doubt it no more, she killed him, and in 
a slow and most cowardly fashion. He died from 
the shame of loving her, from the despair of de- 
siring and not being able to possess her. Yes, 
from that passion that she aroused in him, and 
which he never lost. 

He had said to himself : “ I shall return there, 
perhaps, and debase myself still more. I shall end 
by ruining my wife. It is better to die.” And he 
laid himself down to die, hoping that his illness, 
174 


MilLINITE. 


175 


the fever, would carry him off ; that he would die 
gently, without noise, as he had lived, a gentleman; 
that he would carry with him the secret he had 
kept BO well. But death did not come quickly 
enough, and in his delirium he cut short his suffer- 
ings, his shame, and his fears, he . . . killed him- 
self. This is doubtless the truth, and now that 
time has cooled my anger, and only my grief re- 
mains, I pardon him, his heart was always mine, as 
she has divined. 

What has she not divined ? This fit of un- 
healthy curiosity was the only mistake he made in 
his otherwise perfect life, and he may be excused 
that. The duration of this fit may be explained 
also, as she explained it. Of what use to me is 
my knowledge of the world if I show a narrow and 
severe spirit, if I refuse to make due allowance 
for certain human weaknesses, if I do not know how 
to pardon them. 

But I will not pardon the cruelty of this robber. 
Yes, a robber, for she stole this million ; it was a 
premeditated crime. I pardon her the pain which 
I have suffered, but I will never pardon the evil 
she did to my husband, whom I loved so well. 
And my pardon, what is there in the word, it sig- 
nifies nothing. What does my pardon matter to 
her ? Will she do less harm because I refuse to 


176 


MiJLINITE. 


pardon her ? She mocks at my hatred. What can 
I do to her ? How can I strike at her ? She 
entered my service, she tells me, to know a great 
lady. She knows one now, and can depart satis- 
fied. 

When I think she has not gone yet, that she is 
still under my roof, in the house in which he lived 

so long However she is going — she is going at 

last. 

I rang the bell, I asked for my steward, and gave 
him my orders on the subject of Louise Banquet. 
Then I went out — I wanted to walk — to breathe 
a little fresh air. 

For two hours I walked in the park. When I 
returned my mind was just as fevered, my«|gart as 
troubled. When two people walk tog^er it 
changes their ideas. One is obliged to listen, to 
reply to the other. Anything helps to turn one^s 
thoughts from the subject that haunts one. It is 
a relief to tell a secret, to take counsel, to weep, 
and one returns calmed in spirit. But a solitary 
walk brings no solace. The brain is over excited 
with continually thinking of one subject. Bodily 
fatigue has no effect upon it. Does not an idiot 
continually walk backward and forward without 
losing the fixed idea he has in his brain. The 
imperative, absorbing thought, which I took out 



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177 


with me, and which I have brought back again, is, 
to avenge my husband. 

However, I was very angry on learning that 
Louise Bauquet had not left the house yet. I 
ought, on the contrary, to have been well pleased. 
If she had gone I should have had no opportunity 
to revenge myself upon her. 

“ Why have you not followed my instructions ? ” 
I asked my steward. 

“ I have followed them, madame the duchess. I 
gave Louise Bauquet your orders, but she said that 
the first train for Paris did not leave until mid- 
night, and she asked permission to wait here.” 

“ She could have waited in a hotel at Boulogne. 
However, she is in her own room, I suppose ? ” 

“ Yes, madame ; I believe she is packing her 
trunks.” 

I dined at my usual hour, or rather, I seated 
myself at the table, for I could not eat. Then I 
went out again into the park, with my mind 
always fixed on the same idea. 

Toward half-past eight, as I was returning, all 
at once, on turning a corner, I perceived Louise 
Bauquet. She advanced toward me, very quickly. 
I turned back to escape from her, but she caught 
me up, and said : 

“Madame, I beseech you to listen to me.” 


13 


178 


Ml^LIJSriTE. 


This apparition in the twilight, her rapid step, 
the tone of her voice, slightly frightened me ; 
however, I did not show it, and replied : 

“ What do you want ? ” 

“ I wish, madame, to ask you not to require me 
to depart immediately. It is not just to discharge 
me in this manner. No, it is not just ! What 
have I done to deserve it ? You wished to know my 
life. I told it to you frankly, truly, without keeping 
anything back. It would have been easy for me to 
have shown myself better than I am. To have 
appeared different, to have hidden from you 
events that I told you of, and which even M. de 
Blazac does not know. My confession has been 
complete. ” 

“Because you were proud of what you had 
done,” said I, interrupting her in a voice as 
nervous as her own. “You wished to dazzle me 
by the recital of your exploits, to force me to 
admire your skill, your wickedness, your knowledge 
of men, to show me what you could make them 
do, to what point you could take them, even to 
folly, to despair, to death.” 

“No, I told you all my faults in order to prove 
to you, at the same time, my desire to expiate 
them.” 

“ Expiate them, if your conscience tells you to 


Mj^LINITE. 


179 


do so, but not here. My house is not an asylum 
for bad women to repent in. Keturn to Madame 
de la B^re. You both appear to me to be made 
for each other, to understand each other.” 

She raised her head suddenly, and said : 

“You know our connection then ! You under- 
stand it ? 

“ Understand what ? ” 

“ That we were lovers. ” 

“ You did not tell me that ?” 

“No, I did not dare.” 

“ Why not ? What is more simple ! You were 
her maid. But your million brought you closer 
to her, and friendship has gradually replaced 
respect. ” 

“ Oh ! friendship between females is rare. Love 
only can exist.” 

“ Love ! How can one woman love another ! 
You are decidedly mad.” 

I had said these words without attaching much 
importance to them, without believing in her 
folly, but a moment after saying them I recoiled, 
frightened ; her eyes shone in the darkness that 
now surrounded us, she looked at me intently, her 
head, her bust leaning toward me, her bosom 
heaving and panting. 

I turned to escape from her. She seized my 


180 


M^ILINITE. 


hands and held them nervously, keeping me in the 
same place. Then, leaning closer still, her breath 
literally burning, she cried : 

“No; I am not mad! Why should not one 
woman love another ? Why should man alone 
have the privilege of being loved by us ? Are they 
worthy of women ? Do they deserve their devotion, 
their sacrifices, their immolation ? What return 
do they make, after satisfying their gross material 
passion ? ' Some, fine words, or some, money. They 
think too much of themselves, they are too egotis- 
tical to do anything more I All that we give them 
is their right. In fact, in their minds, we give 
them nothing. AVe simply pay the tribute due to 
them. They are our kings, the lords of creation. 
Mistaken creatures, they only really reign as long 
as we let them, as long as we lead them by the 
hand and prevent them from slipping, from falling. 
Can they see the dangers of the road ? No ; they 
hold themselves above that. Do they trouble 
themselves with the worries, the difficulties of their 
daily life ? No ; that is our affair. They amuse 
themselves, or work, as they please ; they gather the 
flowers we have planted. What do they give us ? 
Children I that, to some, is a source of disgrace, 
an evidence of dishonor, and who cause us all great 
suffering. As to giving us any pleasure, nonsense ! 


M^ILINITE. 


181 


When they are young they only think of them- 
selves, and know nothing better. When older, 
they thing of us sometimes, but know very little 
more about us. It is not their fault, for they only 
know us from hearsay. We, alone, know and under- 
stand ourselves.” 

I made another effort to release my wrists, but 
she held them so firmly I could not succeed ; then 
I cried : 

“Let me go, or I will call for assistance.” 

“ You may call. What do I care ? I must go 
in an hour. Your servants cannot treat me more 
shamefully than they have done. But before they 
come I will tell you why I entered your service ; 
why I made myself your servant, your slave ; why 
I implore you to keep me with you. . . . The 
reason is, because I love you as I have never loved. 
... I adore you ! Oh ! do not let me frighten 
you. I think you the most beautiful of God^s 
creatures. You are not merely a woman, you are 
a magnificent goddess. I would give the whole 
world to freely kiss your feet and knees. But I 
also adore you for your mind, your superior intelli- 
gence, your virtue, and even for your coldness and 
scorn. It is not love alone that I feel for you, but 
I worship you. I will consent to serve you all my 
life, kneeling at your feet, without touching you. 


182 


MtLINITE. 


I have been dying to tell you all this, and I have 
never dared. You see how much I respect you. 
If I tell you this to-day it is because I am mad, 
yes, mad with pain at the idea of leaving you, of 
seeing you no more, of never hearing you, of liv- 
ing no more in your life. Have pity on me ; for 
God^s sake, have pity. Do not send me away ! ” 

It was true then ! I could no longer allow 
myself to doubt this monstrous thing, of which I 
should never have dared to think, notwithstanding 
my surprise at some of her expressions. One 
woman to he able to have a passion for another 
woman ! And I the one who has inspired this 
sacrilegious love ! 

This time I made such an effort that I disen- 
gaged myself from her, I was able to escape. She 
dared not touch me again, and remained silent, 
immovable, cringing beneath my anger, that I 
showed her plainly. But I did not turn away ; an 
idea, outrageous, monstrous as her passion, had 
struck my mind. I tried to drive it from me, to 
dismiss it, but it was too strong for me. For 
several hours my mind had been full of the same 
thought : to avenge my husband, to avenge him ! 
I was becoming as mad as she was. . . . 

Suddenly, in my fevered state, I cried : 


MilLINITE, 


183 


“ What did you give the Baron de Virmeux in 
return for all that he gave to you ? ” 

“ Nothing.” 

“Then, when he brought you twenty or fifty 
thousand francs, he simply paid you for your 
hospitality, for the hours he passed in your 
house ? ” 

“ Yes, but I do not understand ...” 

“If,” I continued, “two or three hours near 
Mademoiselle Melinite are worth fifty thousand 
francs, how much is a week worth passed near the 
Duchess de X. ? Calculate it yourself, after you 
have taken into consideration the social position of 
of both. It must be obvious that a woman like 
myself ought to be worth more than a woman like 
you. If I demand a hundred thousand francs, 
would it be asking too much ? ” 

“ A hundred thousand francs for what ? ” 

“ For nothing, as was the case with the baron of 
whom you were speaking.” 

“ Then I shall resume my service with you ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ And after the week ? ” 

“You will he at liberty to go or to pay another 
hundred thousand francs for another week. You 
will thus be able to remain until the winter.” 

She attempted to discover, to read in my eyes. 


184 


MELINITE, 


if I was speaking seriously or if I was only mock- 
ing her. But it was too dark. Then she said : 

“You intend to give this sum to the poor, no 
doubt, madame ? ” 

“ That does not concern you. ... If you hesi- 
tate, imagine that I have not spoken.” 

“ I do not hesitate. I accept. I will place in 
your hands this evening, madame, bonds to the 
amount of one hundred thousand francs.” 

“ You have them with you ? You travel with 
them, then ? ” 

“ It is more prudent than leaving them in Paris.” 

“Very well.” 

I walked in the direction of the house, without 
another word, and she walked by my side, also 
silent. She still hesitated. I understood it. It 
was hard to give up a fortune so painfully acquired. 
It was true, no doubt, that she was only giving me 
a tenth part, and that she hoped, at the end of the 
first week, to remain near me without paying any 
more. She might have even thought that, touched 
by her love, understanding it better, sympathizing 
with it, I should ask her to remain ; I should pay 
her in my turn. In truth, how could she believe 
that, in my situation, with my fortune, I should 
seriously think of taking her money. To have 
reasoned otherwise she must have known the bond 


MJ^LINITE. 


185 


of union between the baron and myself, to have 
divined that I had only one thought, to avenge 
him, to punish her. And that, for want of a bet- 
ter commencement, I was taking from her the 
money which was the reward of her cupidity. 

Later on I shall see what more to do ; for she not 
only robbed him, but she killed him, . . . and 
the law punishes a murderer with death. 

27th July. 

About ten o^clock this evening she entered my 
bedroom, to which I had retired to write the pre- 
ceding pages. She held in her hand a large 
envelope, which she tendered me. I said : 

“ What is this ? ” 

“The hundred thousand francs.” 

“ Place it upon the table, and leave me. You 
may re-commence your duties to-morrow morn- 
ing.” 

She retired without answering. Melinite has 
become again Louise Bauquet. 

Left alone, I went over to the mantel, took up 
the envelope and opened it. It contained some of 
the bonds inscribed in our marriage contract, and 
of the disappearance of which my notary, had 
informed me. They were returned to me, rumpled 
by the hand of this girl, sullied by her touch. 


186 


MP.LINITE. 


Oh ! never again shall she have the opportunity of 
touching these papers that have been in the hands 
of my husband. They are lost to her forever. 
But they shall not be lost to all. 

The next morning I went into town to see Doc- 
tor Filliette, an amiable and talented man, who 
attends upon me when I am at the “Ruins,” and 
who not only attends to the people of Boulogne 
when they are ill, but interests himself in them 
and cares for them in may ways. 

“You here, duchess, at my house!” he said; 
“ why did you not send for me ? ” 

“Because I do not require any medicine. I 
have come to see you as the municipal councilor, 
one of the authorities of our country.” 

“ A very modest authority. What can I do f ol* 
you, duchess ? ” 

“ I wish to ask you, dear doctor and councilor, 
to give me some particulars of the terrible disaster 
of the 14th October last. You will still be able 
to recall it to your memory.” 

“ That I certainly can, for I never remember a 
worse one. The whole fleet of fishing-boats was 
lost in the North Sea, between the coasts of Eng- 
land and Holland.” 

“ Boulogne and Portel suffered the most, was it 
not so ? ” 


MiJLINITE. 


187 


“Yes, we lost twelve vessels, six from Boulogne, 
and six from Portel.” 

“ How many fishermen were on board of 
them ? ” 

“ Nearly two hundred and fifty ; from eighteen to 
twenty men and two hoys in each boat. Not one 
of them was saved.” 

“ It made many widows and orphans, then ? ” 

“Alas, yes.” 

“ Has much money been subscribed to alleviate 
their distress ? ” 

“Very little without your assistance, madame, 
which you appear to have forgotten ...” 

“ Let that pass, dear doctor, if you wish to oblige 
me, and let us speak of the future. One of my 
friends has placed in my hands one hundred 
thousand francs to be expended in some good 
work. There is no better one than rendering 
assistance to these widows, to all these children, 
and I ask you to divide this amount among them. 
But my friend wishes his name to remain 
unknown.” 

“ I will not mention your name, duchess. ” 

“ This is what I feared. You are mistaken. I 
swear to you that this is not my money, and it will 
cause me much annoyance if my name is men- 
tioned in connection with it.” 


188 


MJ^LINITJE. 


“You are placing me in a serious difficulty, 
madame. I cannot distribute this money myself. 
I must consult the mayor and my colleagues in 
the council. Everyone will wish to know the name 
of the donor.” 

“Then, if it is absolutely necessary you may 
mention it privately. He is named the Baron de 
Virmeux. You are now satisfied. In exchange I 
ask you to give me your word of honor not to 
speak of me. The widows and orphans will wish 
to pray for the baron, and I do not deserve to be 
mixed up in these prayers.” 

“I give you my word, duchess.” 

“ Thank you. Come and see me some day at the 
^Kuins.^ I shall have something more to give 
you.” 

“ From your friend as before. ” 

“ Yes ; he is receiving, gradually, a large amount 
that was taken from him, and as he does not require 
it, he is distributing it among the unfortunate.” 

After leaving Doctor Filliette I returned to Por- 
tel, and rang for Louise Bauquet. She has resumed 
her duties, as I promised her. 


XXIV. 

27th September. 

For two months I have written nothing in my 
journal. 

Why ? 

I have had nothing to write about. Nothing of 
any interest to mention. 

Is this the truth, the sincere reason ? lam not 
writing the history of my time, the history of 
others. I am writing my own little history, and 
it has been during this time very quiet and unevent- 
ful. But at other times when events have been 
absent I have replaced them by my thoughts, by 
my impressions, my sensations during the day. 
Have I then felt nothing, experienced nothing 
since the end of last J uly ? Can I dare to say so, 
to lie in this way to myself ? No. Then, why 
this long silence, these blank pages ? 

I will venture to answer this question. I have 
not had courage to examine my conscience. I 
have been frightened at the thought of finding 
myself too culpable, of discovering too many sins ; 
not sins which are apparent to the eyes, which 

189 


190 


M^JLINITE. 


make one blush, which endanger the soul, and 
which, in order to satisfy remorse, it is necessary 
to confess, in order to obtain pardon, but latent, 
passive sins, if I may call them so, of which it is 
not possible to give a truthful account until some 
time after they are committed, when the imagi- 
nation, the true culprit, is less excited. 

The imagination ! Have I prevented my own 
from misleading me during these two months ; and 
when I say that it was the only culprit, am I 
speaking the truth ? Ought I not to have fore- 
seen that it would fatally mislead me, that I should 
be no longer its mistress. Why did I launch my- 
self into a stupid adventure, or dream of a mad 
revenge ? Should an honest woman do these 
things ? Does the end that I wished to attain, 
the idea I pursued, absolve me ? Does the result 
obtained justify the means I employed ? But, if I 
have sinned in thought, if my head has become 
heated at certain hours, if curiosity has at times 
beset me, if, perhaps, desire . . . yes, I dare 
confess it . . . has for one moment mounted 
to my brain, my alarm has been immediate, my 
revolt instantaneous. My will has silenced my 
imagination. Would my will have been as tri- 
umphant under other conditions ? I ought to ask 
myself this question and to reply to it, though the 


MELINITE. 


191 


question may be indiscreet, the answer delicate. 
I shall do it nevertheless ; if, in place of finding 
myself in this situation with a woman I hate, and 
on whom I wish . to be revenged, I had been placed 
in the same position for as long a time with some 
other woman who was infatuated in the same way ; 
if, in a word, Louise Bauquet, in place of being 
Melinite, had merely been Louise Bauquet, what 
would have happened ? 

This is an absurd question. I cannot answer it. 
It is only the enervating life which I am leading, 
continued for a very long time, that could triumph 
over my will, could conquer me, could lead me to 
abase myself, and I shall never expose myself to 
such a danger. It is said that the woman who no 
one tries to seduce has no merit in remaining 
virtuous. This is a mistake. If they are not 
attacked, it is because they give no one the oppor- 
tunity. She who prudently files from the enemy, 
is fulfilling the first duty of an honest woman, and 
is not tempted by the devil. If this idea of ven- 
geance had not taken possession of me, I most 
certainly would not have tempted either the great 
devil that inhabits the body of Louise Bauquet or 
the little devil that perhaps inhabits my own. 

Am I well revenged ? I believe so. At any 
rate, I have tried to infiict upon her every torment 


192 


MJ^LINITE. 


that she made my husband suffer. I have applied 
the doctrine of retaliation to her in all its rigor, 
although with some necessary modifications. The 
duke remained upon the road, she dared to say, 
because he was too fatigued to continue upon it. 
But I, who have a better opinion of women^’s 
nerves, and know their powers of resisting fatigue, 
have never permitted her to start upon that road. 
AVhen I became aware that she had given up the 
idea of that road, and was trying to stray into 
another path, a private path, I kept a good watch 
upon the entrance to that path. If sometimes 
she has been permitted to kiss the feet of her idol, 
that idol has disappeared from her gaze, when her 
kisses threatened to rise from the feet to the 
knees. 

And has she been contented with these joys, so 
long waited for, so rare, and so limited ? Yes ; 
because she has always been hoping to pass the 
limit, as the Baron de Virmeux hoped. And for 
such a small satisfaction she has sacrificed every 
week a new portion of her fortune ? Yes, as the 
baron did, from infatuation, in the fear of losing 
what she had previously given, feeling certain of a 
final triumph, made obstinate from a series of fail- 
ures. Then she has said to herself : “ When I 

have conquered, my million will return in one 


mPaanite. 


193 


sum, increased by interest, perhaps doubled.” She 
thinks this money is safely kept by me, and does 
not suspect that it goes to Boulogne and is being 
gradually distributed among the widows and 
orphans of the shipwrecked fishermen. 

Perhaps she does not make all these calculations, 
perhaps I am too severe upon her. But these sever- 
ities are imposed upon me; if I do not continue to 
think of her as a contemptible woman, I shall be 
led away in a moment to pity her, to be sorry for 
her. She appears to love me so much, and this 
love, as a rule, is so free from all bad thoughts ! 
A friend, a sister, notwithstanding her affection, 
could never arrive at this absolute devotion, this 
immolation of herself for another. But I must 
not be lenient to her; has she not avowed that she 
lured on my husband. How ? By caresses, with- 
out doubt. For myself, I do not go beyond 
coquetry, and that is sufficient. When I speak to 
her she listens to me, and, I might almost say, 
drinks in my words, whilst I can read in her eyes 
that desire which she will never be able to satisfy. 
I adorn myself for her, and it is she who embel- 
lishes me, and increases her torment. Every day 
a new coiffure that she has dreamt of, and that she 
dresses slowly with her caressing fingers. After 
doing my hair, then comes the toilet, for she has 
13 


194 


MiJLINITE. 


retaken all her duties as a maid. I allow her to do 
everything. She pays enough, one hundred 
thousand francs a week, for the right to dress and 
undress me. She is rather slow sometimes in pull- 
ing up my under petticoat, or clasping my corsage. 
Active as she was at the start, she has really be- 
come too contemplative. I have patience, however, 
I allow her to contemplate. But she reads in my 
eyes, in all our musings : “ Touching is prohibited.” 

I have not diminished her services ; at her re- 
quest I have augmented them. She is present 
now, in my temple, when I take my bath. She 
remains immovable, not behind me, as she did on 
a previous occasion, but at my feet, at the other 
end of the black marble shell. She gazes at me 
intently, and I sometimes suspect her of hoping I 
may become sleepy, or of wishing she could mes- 
merize and impose her will upon me. But I defy 
her. Her looks have no effect upon me. They 
want authority ; a slave cannot make her mistress 
sleep. It is I, rather, that will make her sleep, 
will dictate to her my orders. But to what pur- 
pose ? Wide awake, she does everything. She 
divines my orders before I give them to her, even 
better than she used to do. After a good deal of 
hesitation I ended by allowing her to undertake 
her office of masseuse again. But no more in 


M^ILINITE, 


195 


thundery weather, in a dim light, amidst the scent 
of flowers and perfumes. Not as in the com- 
mencement, when I did not mistrust her. If she 
appears sleepy now, as on a certain occasion, I 
awake her with hard words. One day I struck her. 
Did she not tell me she had dared to strike the 
Baron de Virmeux ? Yet, like the baron, she did 
not murmur ; submissive, subdued, she continued 
her massage. A massage this time full of respect. 

This is what has occurred during the last two 
months, neither more nor less. Ah, well ! I have 
just read again this examination of my conscience, 
and I understand why I hesitated to make it.. 
Ah ! it is better to write the record of one’s life 
every day. It makes it easier to discern one’s 
faults. They appear very small in one’s thoughts, 
but on paper they assume their true proportions. 
They appear plainly such as they are, without dis- 
guise. 

Yes, under the pretext of vengeance, believing 
I was obeying a good sentiment, I have commit- 
ted some pitiful actions unworthy of me. Is it 
not shameful to take money from a girl, even to 
distribute it among the poor ? This million be- 
longed to her, since it was given to her. The 
duke never dreamt of taking it from her ; no, cer- 
tainly not. Then why have I done so ? 


196 


m£:linite. 


And as to this other way of avenging my hus- 
band — by inflicting torments upon this girl, simi- 
lar to those which he endured from her — I 
reproach myself for it; I blush for it. I will 
never forgive myself for doing this. But, above 
all, I will do it no more. My vengeance shall 
remain unfinished. I will do more. I cannot 
return the same bonds to this woman, for they are 
already divided among the poor, but I will give 
her back an equal sum. 

Very good. But now, after all this time passed 
at my side, all this long, enervating intimacy, that 
has only increased her folly, how can I induce her 
to leave me ? For she can not remain, that is cer- 
tain ? It is impossible. It is impossible. What 
prayers will she address me with ! What despair ! 
I do not wish to be a witness to it. Then I must 
tell someone else to inform her, as on the first 
occasion. It is too hard ; besides, she knows so 
well what to reply to me, how to supplicate me. 
Shall I write to her ? No, I cannot compromise 
myself to that extent. I see only one way, to 
depart immediately, without her knowing it, with- 
out saying where I am going. Will she not dis- 
cover my retreat ? What shall I do ? I must go 
away and think, reflect ... far from her. 


XXV. 

2nd October. 

I HAVE not been able to summon up enough 
courage, before to-day, to write in my journal the 
termination of this sad adventure. 

The night found me still in the park thinking 
how I might induce Louise Bauquet to leave me, 
to separate herself from me forever. A strong 
wind had come up from the west, and cleared the 
sky. It was cold, and I should have returned, for 
I was lightly clad. However, I remained outside, 
being fearful of meeting her whom I wished to 
discharge, and yet unable to decide what to say to 
her. The idea came into my head to take shelter 
in the ruins of the old chateau. No one would 
dream of looking for me there ; I could reflect at 
my ease, determine what course to pursue before 
again meeting Louise Bauquet. Last year the 
duke had half restored one of the rooms in this 
ancient building, the chamber that had been 
inhabited, it was said, by the beautiful Marie, 
Abbess of Ramsay, after her abduction and before 
her marriage. Some worn-out, tottering steps lead 

197 


198 


m:^linite. 


up to this room. I am safe upon them, because I 
know them well, and know where to place my feet. 
I ascended and entered the chamber. The walls 
are strengtened with bars of iron ; some new beams, 
roughly put up, served as a ceiling. I crossed to 
the window, or, rather, to a large gap in the wall, 
formerly closed with a window. There before me 
was an abyss from twenty to thirty metres in 
depth, for the building was now, owing to the 
enroachments of the sea, right on the edge of the 
cliff. 

Seated upon a garden-chair, that had previously 
been placed there, I thought for some time, and 
finally made up my mind that I would speak to 
Louise Bauquet myself, gently and kindly. That I 
would try to make her listen to reason, to inspire 
her with a strong resolution, to persuade her to 
leave, both for her own sake and mine also. 

After having made up my mind, I was about to 
return to finish the matter the same evening. But 
when, after having crossed the room, I placed my 
foot upon the first step of the ladder, I perceived 
that someone was coming up, I felt frightened, and 
cried : 

“ Who is there ? Who is that ? ” 

‘‘It is I, madame the duchess,” a voice replied. 


MJ^JLINITE. 


199 


“I was uneasy at your absence, and have been 
seeking for you everywhere.” 

At the same time Louise Bauquet joined me. I 
could not help saying : 

“ What folly for you to venture at night among 
these ruins ! ” 

“But,” she said, “the night is so clear, I can see 
plainly ; besides, I know this room. I am aware 
that unless one wishes to kill oneself, one must be 
careful in mounting these steps. But death is 
simply an idea like any other.” 

“ What do you mean ? Why talk of death ? ” 

“It is this precipice, this gulf, that makes me 
speak of it. As a rule I never think of it. It will 
come when it pleases, either to-day, to-morrow, or 
later on. It makes very little difference to me. 
My life is a useless one.” 

By instinct, by an intuition, which does not sur- 
prise me, she always reads my thoughts. She 
knows beforehand that I wish to give her good 
advice. However, I said to her : 

“ If you are discontented with your life, why do 
you not change it ? Bender it useful, profitable 
to others, make it an honest one.” 

“ I, Melinite ! ” 

“No, you, Louise Bauquet. You told me that 
you have a married sister, who is not well off or 


200 


MJ^LINITE. 


happy. Go and live near her, occupy yourself 
with her children, love them, look after them, 
take care of them.” 

“ Take care of them ! How can I ? I have 
nothing.” 

“ There is your million ! ” 

“ My million ? ” 

“ Yes. You do not think, I imagine, that I am 
going to keep it. I have employed it, in good 
works, in the name of the Baron de Yirmeux . . . 
in order that he may forgive you. But on your 
return to Paris, I shall place in your hands other 
bonds, representing the amount I received from 
you.” 

Instead of looking pleased at this good news, 
she contented herself with saying : 

‘‘ If you are going to return me this money, why 
did you take it ? ” 

“ To prove you, to find out if you were as selfish 
as you appeared to he, as you had been with the 
baron.” 

“ Well ! you have learned- nothing. A woman 
studies her own interests when she does not love. 
She neglects and forgets them near the person she 
loves.” 

“ You are mistaken. I have learned something. 
You are worth better things than you believe. It 


M^ILINITE. 


201 


is for that reason I wish you to pursue another 
career.” 

This one suits me. I do not wish to change 
it.” 

“ Which one do you speak of ? That of Meli- 
nite or that of Louise Bauquet ? ” 

‘^That of Louise Bauquet, your maid.” 

‘‘You know very well you cannot always remain 
in my service.” 

“ Ah ! you are going to send me away ! again ! ” 
“I do not send you away. I speak to your 
reason, your judgment, and ask you to leave me 
of your own accord, to go away.” 

“ Ah ! I knew it well ; I knew it well ! When 
I saw you take up your journal to-day ... Oh ! 
that journal! . . . you wrote — you wrote along 
time, then went out without allowing me to follow 
you, to enter these ruins, and I said to myself : 
‘She is turning over some new project in her 
head ; she has some dreadful design against me.^ ” 
“No,” I answered, trying to calm her; “it is 
not a dreadful design, since I have been thinking, 
on the contrary, how I could make your life a 
happy one. But let us see : It is now the end of 
September. It is already late for the seaside. I 
must soon return to Paris. Can I take you with 
me, or keep you near me, you are so well known ?” 


202 


MELINITE. 


“ Oh ! I can disguise myself. I can transform 
myself so that no one will know me.” 

“ Madame de la Bere knows that you are in my 
service.” 

“ She cannot speak of it. She left Paris on the 
evening of my departure to join a very rich Amer- 
ican in the United States, and she will not return. 
Besides which, if by any possible chance she should 
ever mention it, you will say what you have cer- 
tainly already thought of saying : ^ I did not know 
that Louise Bauquet was named Melinite.^ I have 
always passed as a true lady^s maid, which is the 
reason I have always received good testimonials.” 

“ But Blazac ? Has he not learned that Louise 
Bauquet and Melinite are one and the same 
person ?” 

“ Oh ! Blazac is no more to be feared. I have 
heard of him. He is living at Boulogne in the 
Hotel Chrystol with a little brunette who I know 
well, her name is Rose Miron. She is an explosive 
for men like himself, and the feeble Blazac, led 
astray as he is, will not be long before he will 
repent having studied too closely this new explo- 
sive. That will he the end of Blazac.” 

This language, which sounded worse than usual, 
and recalled the old M61inite, this light way of 
speaking of a man to whom, in reality, she owed 


M^)LINITE. 


203 


her fortune, disgusted me. I should have taken 
into account her nervousness, natural enough at 
this moment. But I have nerves myself ; and I 
was becoming irritated at seeing that I made no 
progress in her mind ; that I could neither con- 
vince her, nor even make her hesitate. So I said, 
shortly : 

“It is useless to discuss this matter longer. We 
must separate.” 

“Why?” 

“If you are really attached to me, devoted to 
me, you must already understand why.” 

“ I only understand one thing : it is that I do 
not wish to leave you.” 

“You should have courage, have reflection.” 

“ Foolish people cannot reflect, and I am foolish 
. . . about you.” 

“ All the more reason why I should require you 
to leave. What do you hope for ? ” 

“That you will end by loving me as I love you.” 

“Never ! I could not do it.” 

“Tell me why.” 

“ Because a woman honestly brought up, whose 
mind is pure, whose heart is in the right place, can 
neither understand, admit, or participate in certain 
sentiments that are unnatural, if one may call 
your ideas sentiments. When you express them. 


204 


MJ^LINITE. 


instead of pleasing us, of inflaming our passions, 
as you believe, you only inspire us with repulsion. 
We are not made for your depravity ; it revolts us. 
Your corruptions sicken us. Most of us do not 
even understand the meaning of them. The re- 
mainder, who have learned of them by some chance, 
perhaps, consider you to be mad, and keep you at 
a distance. Not that they fear to catch your com- 
plaint, but simply because you are repugnant to 
them. Your vice is known to them, they have 
divined it ; but they do not allow the thought of 
it to remain in their minds. You exist, they know 
it ; but you do not exist for them. This is not 
simple honesty, it is instinct. Yes, an instinctive 
aversion for that which is not natural. ” 

“Then,” she said, “I have never inspired you 
with any feeling but repulsion ! ” 

“Yourself, no. Your love, yes.” 

“ It is very deep, however. It Alls my heart.” 

“ If it was only your heart ! ” 

“ I will hide the remainder. I swear it. Only 
keep me near you.” 

“I tell you that it is impossible.” 

“ Do the impossible. I love you so much. Ah ! 
If you knew ! I think only of you. I dream 
about you when I am asleep. But, alas ! I cannot 
sleep now. Thinking of you keeps me awake. Do 


m:^linite. 


205 


you not notice how I am changed ? My eyes stand 
out in my thin face. I know it ; I often look at 
myself. I am afraid of becoming ugly, or, rather, 
that you will find me so. The last three months 
passed near you has completed the mischief. Why 
did you not send me away the first time ? Why 
did you yield to my prayers ? It is too late now ; 
you have no longer the right to send me away. I 
shall die away from you ; yes, I shall die. . . . 
Have pity. . . . For heaven^s sake, have pity.” 

Leaning toward me, almost kneeling, she seized 
my hands, kissing them, and I felt her tears run- 
ning through my fingers. 

Her grief was terrible, and yet at the same time 
I felt furious with myself, for this grief, I had 
wished for it, I had sought it. It should have made 
me rejoice, and on the contrary, it caused me 
great suffering. ... Ah ! it was too much to for- 
get my dream of vengeance ! Had not my hus- 
band suffered as she did, for her ! Why did I 
think of him at this moment ? But she continued 
to press me without ceasing. Desperate, she cried 
to me : 

“ Love me ; for mercy^s sake, love me ... ” 

Then, not knowing what to say, what to do, 
and decided, notwithstanding, to take from her all 


206 


MJ^LINITE. 


hope, I placed my hands upon her shoulders, and 
looking her full in the face, I said to her : 

“The true name of the Baron de Virmeux was 
the Duke de X. . . . He was my husband ! ” 

“ Ah ! ” she cried, instantly recoiling, “ you 
wished to avenge him ! ” 

“Yes, hut I wish it no longer.” 

Struck with another idea, she then said : 

“You are a widow. . . . How did he die ?” 

“ He killed himself for your sake. ” 

“ For my sake ! Ah ! my God ! Ah ! my God ! 
... I understand now. I understand it all. . . . 
It is true, you could not love me ! No, you could 
not ! ” 

She staggered up and down the room, repeating 
in a hoarse voice, as if she was choking: “Ho, 
no, she cannot love me ; she cannot ! ” 

For one moment she stopped, and also said : 
“ He is dead. He killed himself for me ! ” 

Then, suddenly, she added : “ Then I will kill 
myself for her ! ” 

And, rushing to the window, she threw herself 
into the abyss. 

A quarter of an hour afterward, when I reached 
the foot of the cliff, she was dead . . . dead, with- 
out pain. Her head and body were broken upon the 
rocks on the shore. 


MELINITE. 


207 


This death has been attributed to accident. My 
servants had remarked that Mademoiselle Banquet 
loved to walk after dark, in these ruins, and one 
of them had said : “She is wrong. Some harm 
will happen to her. The chamber of the abbess is 
very dangerous.” 

She was buried yesterday. The service took 
place in the little church at Portel. I covered her 
coffin with all the late autumn flowers that we 
could find in the park and meadows. I walked 
behind it from the “ Ruins” to the place of burial, 
followed by the whole of my household, together 
with the women from Portel, and some few of the 
fishermen who were not at sea. 

On my return to Paris I charged my notary to 
seek out the sister of Louise Banquet, and to make 
over to her a million francs, in rentes and bonds, 
inscribed in the names of herself and her children. 


The Prince de T., it is stated, was married last 
year to the Duchess de X. 

The reader of the private journal, which had 
been confided to him, of the complete confession 
contained in it, no doubt felt somewhat uncer- 
tain as to whether the duchess, having gone so far. 


208 


M^JLINITE. 


would, after having had her curiosity excited to 
such a degree, be always able to restrain it. He 
certainly asked himself, notwithstanding her hon- 
esty, her strength of character, her instinctive 
repugnance, if, later on, some evil day, under new 
and unknown conditions, she would not be tempted 
to know more on this subject. 

But as he had very advanced ideas upon the 
subject of love between married people, perhaps 
he said to himself, at the same time : “If it is 
necessary to instruct her to the very end, I will 
instruct her myself. ” 

In this kind of education a man is even superior 
to a woman — he can teach all that a woman can 
teach, and a great deal that she can never teach. 
The Maupin, the demoiselles, Giraud and the 
Melinites are only truly dangerous to the man 
who respects his wife more than she wishes to be 
respected, and who does not wish, or who does not 
know how, to be her lover after he has become her 
husband. 

The Prince de T. evidently wished, for some good 
reason, to espouse his beautiful penitent, or he 
might have spoken in another way. He might 
have said : “ It lowers, it degrades a legitimate 

wife to initiate her into all the secrets, all the re- 
finements of love. It also exposes her to grave 




209 


dangers — one curiosity satisfied provokes a new 
one, or the same under a different form.” 

The female imagination, when once it has taken 
flight, never knows when to stop. The professor 
cries to his pupil : “ I have told you all. Be sat- 

isfied, then;” she does not believe it, and though 
there is nothing more to teach her, she continues 
to search for what does not exist. 

Then, should not the man, bent upon marriage, 
rather seek for one of those women . . . and 
there are many . . . more honest than curious. 
And when he has found one let him be contented 
with being a true husband, honestly loving, even 
passionate . . . passion is not excluded from the ’ 
programme . . . and do his best to enable her to 
present him with sound, healthy children, who are 
the best safeguards from a Melinite — a species 
which is equally dangerous to both sexes. 


THE ENT). 


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